RHUNRIKKI STROLLAR (Warhammer Fantasy Golden Age Dwarf Runelord Quest)

[soulcake]

Winning Vote

[X] The rear

Click to shrink...

You curse loudly before running up the hill towards the embattled artillery.

As you run up, you take stock of the situation ahead of you.

(Roll, Miners vs Demons: 2 +10[Runic Picks] =12 vs 46 +15[Bloody Strength] =61)

It is carnage.

The miners held in reserve are being decimated wholesale by the swarm of Khornate daemons spawning in their midst. A battle line cannot form in this madness, and with no shields to defend them the miners are dangerously exposed.

Desperately you look to the quarrellers and release a small sigh of relief

(Roll, Quarrellers vs Daemons: 29 +5[Runic aid] =34 vs 12 +15[Bloody Strength] =27)

The fighting is ugly but in their favour. Their Thane having led a charge with his honour guard, giving his clansmen time to form up into a shield wall. It leaves the Thane and his men smack in the middle of a horde of daemons however.

This wouldn't do.

(Roll, Wrath and Ruin: 74 +30[Runelord] =104)

As you run past the quarrellers, cleaving your way through daemons on the way, you tap your axe and bring ruination upon the daemons assaulting the Thane and his bodyguard. The sudden increase in weight and broken limbs among the daemons giving the isolated dwarfs reprieve and his clansmen the ability to break through and reach him.

You look back and nod at them before continuing on.

Again and again, you cast the Runes, strengthening isolated pockets of beleaguered Dawi and smiting daemons as you make your mad dash up the hill and towards the uncontested portal.

(Roll, Reform the line: 46 +15[Turning Tide] +15[Inspiring Runelord] =76)

Though you are far from it, you hear cheers and shouting. Thanes ordering the line be reformed through the din of battle and to march towards the portal.

You cannot wait for them however. The longer that portal stays active, the less tenable this situation is.

(Roll, Runesmith Casualties: 2)

As you run past the dead you take note of the sight of two young runesmiths lying still in the bloody snow, and take a small detour to wipe out the daemons encroaching on their bodies before having to move on. This battle was taking its toll.

...​

Eventually, you find yourself at the hill's apex, the portal only 15 meters from you, cut off from the rest of the throng when the trap is sprung.

A bit of a shoddy trap, to be honest, didn't even try to hide its purpose, then again you sprung it anyway so the bait was at least solid.

The portal edge runs red with dripping blood, the air crackles as 7 of the largest Bloodletters you've seen in your (considerably long thank you) life jump out one after the other.

They look familiar.

"YOU!" one screams.

A towering daemon bursts out of the forge.

"WE REMEMBER YOU," a second continues.

-a jagged line down her torso, then kicks her into another building.

"MURDERER."

Hate and anger.

"KILLER."

You swing, an arm breaks. A scream.

"ONCE WE WERE EIGHT, NOW. WE. ARE. REDUCED! BECAUSE OF YOU."

-metal clad fist breaking bones and bruising flesh

"WE, THE BROKEN BAND WILL HAVE VENGEANCE."

A hand falls limp.

"YOUR SKULL WILL ADORN HIS THRONE ALONGSIDE YOUR WIFE!"

You very nearly break the handle of your axe again.

Now you know, now you remember, who they are. You know what one of them did, and now you have a chance to exact vengeance sevenfold.

(Roll, Snorri Vs The Broken Band: 52 +15[Really Old Grumbler] +15[Old Grief Renewed] =82 vs. 2 +20[Heralds of Khorne] =22)

"Get out of my way," you whisper as you charge them with a speed you never knew you had.

"Get! Out! of! My! Way!" You bellow each word in between your attacks, slaughtering a Herald with ease. Your axe digging into the head of the one you just killed, lifting it up then throwing it at another.

You run over to the fallen Herald, smash its head in with your hammer while your axe breaks the blade blocking it, finding purchase in another daemon's chest.

Three down.

The remaining four charge you as one, finally reacting.

It does not save them.

A shove into one, pushing it onto its ally while your arm carries through and the axe disembowels it, four. You continue your movement, your body still turning so that you slice off an arm and pulp a leg as your weapons follow through. The heralds try to reform, to coordinate an assault against you.

You do not let them.

You axe beheads the limping one, five. Your hammer caves in the chest of another, six. Then with a furious bellow, you charge the last Herald head down, goring him with the horns of your helm, seven.

You are twelve meters from the portal.

(Roll, Wave 2: 7 Sacred plague interrupt!)

The blood begins to turn black and sluggish, putrid green light burns and a host of plaguebearers and nurglings come for you.

(Roll, Snorri Vs Nurgle: 89 +15[Really Old Grumbler] +15[Old Grief Renewed] =119 vs 11 +15[Bloated Fortitude] =26)

They die.

Eight meters.

(Roll, Wave 3: 5, eh close enough)

As if sensing its impending doom the portal wavers as it shimmers pink, only five of Slaanesh's Heralds dance out of the nothingness this time.

You begin your charge.

(Roll, Snorri vs Slaanesh: 3 +15[Really Old Grumbler] +15[Old Grief Renewed] =33 vs 90 +10[Unnatural Grace] =100)

(Roll, Daemonward: 85)

Only to hear a screech of pain as the runes on your cloak burn an angry blue. You spin around immediately in retaliation, your axe glancing off the 6th Dancer's blade.

"You were loved~" the others heralds sing in a chorus.

"We will enjoy destroying it~" the one who tried to ambush you says.

You snort.

They come at you at once.

(Roll, Snorri Vs Slaanesh round 2: 24 + 30[Its getting tedious to list the buffs] =54 vs 31 +10[Dancin Daemons Batman] =41)

You'll give them this.

They were better than the nurglites earlier.

You're using both arms at once for this one.

The daemonettes prance around you, claws and stingers jabbing at you at seeming random. It takes you a second more than you'd like, but you eventually figure it out well enough to literally disarm one of the daemons as they come in for a stab.

Ancestors you hate fighting slaaneshi.

(Roll, Snorri Vs Slaanesh round 3: 80 + 30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =110 vs 57 +10[Dancin Daemons Batman] =67)

To an outsider it seems like all you're doing is blocking the strikes as they come at you, only reacting to the attacks instead of doing any attacking yourself. The slaaneshi seem to be of the same mind, their infernal giggles growing louder and suddenly the 6 of them jump you at once.

Fools.

With the skill and wisdom only age can give, you duck low, dodging the first dancer even as you raise your axe so that it cuts through her straight down the center. Both halves flying into her fellows, colliding in midair. With a burst of speed that surprises the demons, you quickly end the two downed daemonettes, turning to face the surviving trio, blood sizzling off your still glowing hammer.

Screeching, the three of them come at you, and you are only too happy to oblige.

(Roll, Snorri Vs Slaanesh round 4: 96 + 30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =126 vs 92 +10[Dancin Daemons Batman] =102)

It seems the daemons have upped their game. The flurry of blows you exchange is devastating. The daemonettes dodge and weave with increasing speed, always a hair's length away from the edge of your axe and hammer. Meanwhile, your Gromril plate lives up to its name, enduring the flurry of piercing blows with nary a scratch, the runes of your cloak burning intermittently to the slaaneshis' anger.

It seems that the melee could go on forever if not for one reason.

The Slaaneshi must dodge every time.

You need only hit once.

It comes suddenly, the second you understand this frantic new pattern, an axe swings out suddenly and out of nowhere, bisecting one of the daemonettes.

Two left.

(Roll, Snorri Vs Slaanesh round 5: 70 + 30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =100 vs 20 +10[Dancin Daemons Batman] =30)

The other two grow panicky, attacking you with frantic energy, their dances become unhinged, the patterns obvious.

Shoddy.

It does not take long for you to finish it.

You are four meters from the portal.

(Roll, Wave 4 Final Wave: 4 +2[angry troll] =6)
(Roll 1d2, does he arrive?: 1)

The portal goes blue and the get of Tzeentch flood out like a tide. Horrors drop onto the ground and roar at you, while screamers and flamers circle overhead.

But the portal isn't finished.

Grasping hands that seemingly come from nowhere, pull and tear at its edges, widening the gap until it stands a good ten meters from the ground and four meters from end to end.

Something that could actually pose a challenge then.

You watch warily, one eye still on the slowly encircling horde of daemons, as the multihued light of the portal shifts and turns pitch black. Slowly, a voice calls out from the other side, deep and grating to the ears.

"Do you know..how much of a BOTHER you've been? How much you've meddled with my plans?"

You stay silent, glaring at the void.

"Not even a word? Well then. Here I come~"

A furred arm reaches out, spindly and weak, and grabs the edge of the portal. You watch as a great cloven hoof steps out, the sound of something heavy and metal being dragged across stone starts wracking your ears. The side of a torso appears next, rippling with fur and muscle, in stark contrast to the gangly feathered arm it is attached to. The daemon crouches, the portal too small for it, bending down before revealing the head of something that was once a troll. A snout brimming with jagged, arm-length teeth smiles down at you. A set of baleful red eyes staring straight into your flinty black irises, as long, swept-back horns slowly pull themselves out, the ends rising up to meet the other. Then finally, the other arm appears, a great bulging mass of muscle and fur that drags a blade of brass through.

All of this does not faze you.

What makes you break out into a sneer of such ugly proportions that it could make even a Longbeard wince however, is the crude armour chained to its body. The telltale signs that it has despoiled the bodies of your kin, fashioning a set of torn plates and chains to protect itself, and on its back a sack made of skin and torn cloth, bulging with what is likely yet more Dwarfen property.

It looks down at you, even hunched as it is, from ten meters in the air.

"Your plate. I want it. Your axe, I want it. All of your possessions, are mine, I will take them from you all and feast on the flesh for many moons." it says in its guttural voice, greed evident.

"Come and take it then, if you think you're hard enough," you snarl back.

…​

(Roll, The Front: 57 +10[Faltering Trolls] =67)
(Roll, The Reserve: 39 +15[Reformed Line] =54)

Things had finally stabilized. Lord Snorri's Runes and elimination of the western portals allowed the left most Longbeards to recuperate and the warriors to swing around and pressure the trolls. From the reports the runners brought you, the demons at the rear were pressing hard, but the reserves were holding firm for now.

"Thane Otrek! News from the backlines!" A messenger shouts as they run towards you.

"Get it out then!" you bellow as you swing your axe, beheading another troll.

"Lord Snorri has charged up the hill where the artillery were Thane, last reports see him closing on the portal before a horde of demons blocked sight of him."

"BAH!" you shout, moving the runner aside and killing the troll about to grab him, "keep your wits about you beardling, this isn't a tavern!"

You ignore his apology, turning to your second.

"ORREK! Who do we have left in reserve?"

"My thane!" the man shouts as he crumples a troll's chest in with his hammer, "Some 200 hundred miners, about 80 quarrellers and the Longbeards on the Left Flank are fresh enough to get back into things!" he concludes before swinging his war hammer at an Ice Troll's scalp.

You imagine the battle in your mind's eye, shouting for a rotation as you do so. You pat the shoulder of one of your honour guards as they rush into the fray.

The left flank was secure, the rear was holding but you weren't sure for how long, and the right was slowly inching its way towards the remaining portals.

If you bring the reserves here you could undoubtedly swing the right flank to an easier victory, mopping up the front and turning back to assist the rearguard. Of course, this relied on the rearguard holding long enough for you to arrive. There was of course the-

(70 vs 71)​

(Roll, A Nasty Surprise vs Runic Retaliation: 84 +10[Fel Energizing] =94 vs 15 +10[Runic Might] -5[Flagging Numbers] =20)

-"MORE DAEMONS!" a dwarf yells.

You turn suddenly, seeing the giggling forms of daemonettes grab at the edges of the portals and pull them apart further. Allowing more of their kind into the world.

The remaining runesmiths try to counteract their efforts, but before they do so are pushed back as the trolls suddenly press their lack of attention.

You can only bellow for the front to brace as the Longbeards take on the oncoming tide of slaaneshi.

(Roll, Old Grumblers Vs Daemonettes: 21 +10[Old Grumblers] +5[Braced] =36 vs 54 +10[Unnatural Grace] =64)

And are pushed back. Piercing claws and grasping pincers breaking through even their thick heavy armour.

The right flank loses its momentum, their slow push turning into a bitter stalemate.

The situation has grown even more complex.

Where you do send reinforcements?
[ ]Rear: Who?
[ ]Right: Who?

Note you have 200 Miners, 100 Longbeards and 80 quarrelers still in reserve.
Tactical Situation from Otrek's perspective:
Right Flank: Stalled
Rearguard: Holding, but unsure for how long.

EDIT: VOTE BY PLAN PLEASE.
AN: We're in the endgame now. Sorta funny that the vote is basically the same as the last one. :^I
Anywho, C&C and thanks for reading :^) Not an especially big fan of how this ended but the dice are what the dice are.

Last battle turn will DEFINITELY happen today, then the results.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan: Escort for the Runelord
-[X] Rear: 40 Quarrelers, 40 Longbeards
-[X] Right: 200 Miners, 60 Longbeards and 40 quarrelers.

Click to shrink...

NOTE: Battle Turns have moved to a d50 system, modifiers unchanged.​

You snarl, hammer lashing out and pulping a gibbering horror.

(Snorri vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies: 49 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =79 vs. 34 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =69]

You've been whittling away at the bastards horde of beasties even as you duel the enormous Troll. Your continued success clearly further enrages the beast if its guttural roar of hate is any indication.

You see its feathered arm pulse and bulge with blue light, energy travelling into its hand, forming another spell.

You tap your amulet while you pull off a devastating shoulder charge that breaks the back of the Horror you'd spun around with an earlier hammer blow. The pulsing energy fizzles out and dies, much to the anger of the Wizard in question.

That's right beastie, you won't let it pull its mischief uncontested.

(Roll, the Front: 10 +10[Old Grumblers] +15[Reinforced] =35 vs. 12 +10[Fading Surge] =22)
(Roll, the Rear: 32 +15[Inspiring Runelord] +5[A Few Old Grumblers] =52 vs 45 +10[Demonic Strength =55)

It had more important things to worry about.

Like keeping its head on its shoulders.

"What do you think you're doing? Think you can bother those Dwarfs while I'm right here? Arrogant, then again trolls were always the stupid sort, so maybe its a bit of your nature shining through?"

It only roars in frustration, before lifting its brass blade and bringing it down on you.

(Roll, Snorri vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies Round 2: 20 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =50 vs 1 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =36)

Only to land on a group of horrors, killing the lot of them as you deftly moved aside and swung out with your axe, slicing through the dwarf made steel and into the flesh. The spray of blue arterial blood making your instincts scream to dodge. You follow your gut, dodging out of the way of the liquid and watch dispassionately as the droplets hit the ground and freeze it solid.

Of course, it had frozen blood, couldn't even have the traditional weakness of a troll, could it?

Bah.

You swing again, The Master Rune of Conduction on your hammer heating the metal to a vibrant yellow right as it connects with a diving screamer, the familiar scent of cooked pig filling the air.

Now they've ruined roast boar for you.

Absolutely shameful.

You deftly move to shutter yet another spell the demon is casting in its tracks as you move to another group of Horrors to slay. You could do this all day, but if those beardlings could hurry it up you'd greatly appreciate getting this horde of eldritch gnats off your back so you could focus on the portal maker.

(Roll, The Front 2: 17 +10[Old Grumblers] +15[Reinforced] =42 vs 8 +5[Faltering numbers] =13)
(Roll, The Rear 2: 48 +15[Inspiring Runelord] +5[A Few Old Grumblers] =68 vs 38 +10[Demonic Strength] =48)

Bah, you suppose you'll have to do this yourself.

Typical really, you snort before getting ready to strike at the beast again by breaking out of this ring of Horrors that trapped you.

(Roll, Snorri vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies Round 3: 37 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =67 vs 48 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =83)

Only to have the wind knocked out of your lungs by a wicked backhand that pulped the horrors entirely.

"I, will. Break you, Runelorrrrd," it mutters darkly, "I will make your treasures my own, and claim what is mine!" it finishes in a scream.

Your only response is to spit a glob of blood on the ground, heft your axe heavenward and cast a Rune of Wrath and Ruin aimed atop the hill.

Didn't even get your teeth jostled by that hit.

Shameful.

You note with clinical interest that the portals have only grown, seeing two more than the last time you checked.

The longer this lasted, the more trouble the throng faced.

(Roll, The Rear 3: 43 +15[Inspiring Runelord] +5[A Few Old Grumblers] +15[Arriving Frontlines]=68 vs 38 +10[Mo' portals mo' demons] =48)

With a grunt, you kick off the earth, the Rune of Impact flaring brightly as turns you into a living projectile of Gromril and Death aimed at the portals, erasing daemons as you dash through.

The beast, realizing your aim, moves to intercept, arm blurring as it swings its massive weapon where it believes you'll be. A crash and squelch as the weapon impacts the earth, sending rock and bits of unfortunate Horror flying in all directions.

(Roll, Snorri vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies Round 4: 47 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] =77 vs 22 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =57)

It succeeds in slowing you down at least, the oncoming mass of its brass blade forcing you to leap over and land squarely in a group of horrors, screamers and flamers overhead. With a cast of your runes, the alchemical fire is consumed as soon as it leaves the flamers' mouths, feeding into the shield that surrounds you as you butcher your way through the horde. The sheer number of bodies slowing you down.

"You did not think. It would be so easy? My possessions cannot be destroyed so easily."

"You own nothing beastie, and when the throng arrives, nothing will be in the way of me killing you myself," you taunt back.

It roars back at you, arm raised before bringing its blade down at you again, uncaring of the minions in the way. You charge through a Horror, the gore sliding off the shield of energy around you and dodge out of the way of the blade that does more to hurt the enemy than it does you.

You watch as more portals appear, spewing out more and more daemons of ever more variety.

You can only hope the throng holds long enough for you to see the work done.

(Roll, The Rear 4: 41 +15[Inspiring Runelord] +5[A Few Old Grumblers] +15[Daring Charge]=76 vs 8 +15[A Growing horde] =23)

Frustration builds in your gut, every moment you spend not destroying those portals is yet one more daemon sent out to kill the Throng, to kill your fellow dwarfs, to kill beardlings barely a month past their 30th winter, children in all but name.

A roar escapes your mouth as you charge.

(Roll, Snorri vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies Round 5: 12 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] +5[Protective Elder] =47 vs 49 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =84)

A Horror, half-dead, grabs your leg as you run past slowing down your charge just enough for yet more of the creatures to pile on. Your axe and hammer blur about, pulping handfuls of the creatures, but more and more pile on, smothering you. They do no damage to you, enshrouded as you are in your protective bubble, but they do distract you.

The beast, seeing an opportunity casts a spell that will doubtlessly bring ruin to the Throng below, does so. Its arm flaring with the familiar hue of wretched magic.

(Roll, free spell?: 2 +25[Chaos is thick here] =27]

You are only a hair's breadth too slow to activate the siphon, the spell manages to go through but your efforts drain it of the majority of its power.

You are distracted, but that is no excuse for a Runelord to do nothing.

Hammer and Axe move like lightning, your body moving thanks to sheer will and the might of the runes that adorn you. The morass of chittering bodies is cloying, the sounds of outside grow faint.

(Roll, The Rear 5: 36 +15[Inspiring Runelord] +10[Old Grumblers] +10[Unbroken Momentum]=71 vs 1 +20[An enormous horde] +5[Weakened Spell] =26)

Then you hear it, at the very edges of your ability to listen, so quiet that you think it is an illusion for a moment.

"Khazukan, Kazakit-HA!"

You grin.

The beast screams.

(Roll, Snorri and the Throng vs. The Greedy One and tzeentchies Round 6: 25 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] +5[Protective Elder] +10[Arriving Dwarfs]=70 vs 7 +30[Greed Unbound] +5[Horde of distractions] =42)

A shaft of light appears to your right as a daemon is bodily thrown off of you, followed by yet more and more of its kin then, at last, the sight of a beaten, bruised but living Thane Otrek Ironarm.

"Rhunrikki! We apologize for taking so long, a bit of a troll problem you see, " he says with a grin.

You snort as you are pulled up.

"Deal with these gnats and their hives will you? The big one is mine, you beardlings don't have the experience to handle it," you say after dusting yourself off and grabbing your weapons from the hands of a nearby beardling.

"Of course Rhunrikki," Thane says, bowing quickly before running off with a bellowing war cry on his lips.

You look at the troll who dared desecrate the honoured dead, dared assault and kill innocent dwarfs, dared to claim all of your people's work as its own. Dared. To. Make. Orphans. Out. Of. One. Child. Too. Many.

"GREEDY ONE!" you bellow, drawing the attention of the monstrous troll with its preferred name.

"NO MORE TRICKS, NO MORE BODIES TO HIDE BEHIND. TODAY. YOU. DIE!" You roar, the runes on your armour flaring brighter than they ever have. Your momentum is tremendous as you run towards the bastard axe raised.

The beast loses its sword arm in a shower of blue blood. Unable to block your charge in time, it screams in pain and rage.

"NO! NO! NO! I WILL NOT BE DENIED WHAT IS MINE BY RIGHTS. NOT BY THESE DWARFS, AND NOT BY YOU RUNELORD!" it screams, fel light suffusing its body.

"More," it says, arm regenerating at an alarming speed as it turns to face you fully.

"MORE." it repeats, three more arms sprouting out of its back, each pulling a weapon out of the sack on its back. Limbs swinging with unholy strength, forcing you to dodge backwards.

"MORE! ALL OF IT IS MINE!" it screams to the heavens, with a crushing motion its sack empties as weapons are pulled out by unseen forces, raised around it in a halo of slowly rotating axes and hammers.

The Greedy One has become the Endless Avarice.​

Your mouth is set into a grim line.

(Roll, Snorri Vs.The Covetous Desire: 24 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] +5[Protective Elder] +10[Arriving Dwarfs] =69 vs 21 + 45[Ascending Terror] =66)

8​

You charge, heedless of the terror inducing sight. Your hammer and axe match the furious barrage of projectiles and earth sundering strikes. Your armour takes blows that could crumple a dwarf five times over with nary a dent. The creature is obviously adjusting to its new form, and you don't intend to let it stand there and croon over its new power. Around your duelling forms, the Throng cuts a bloody swathe through the enemy horde, slowly but surely pushing towards the portals so that the few surviving runesmiths can shut down the blasted things.

"All that build up and you can't even deal with a crotchety old man can you? All hot air, no substance to you," you say clicking your tongue disapprovingly.

"I WILL REND YOU FROM HURK-" it begins before being cut off.

"-BAH! GET SOME NEW MATERIAL." You shout back, hammer hitting it square in the chest over its heart, the impact ejecting the organ out of its body and through its spine with a sickening pop.

To its credit, the beast only screams harder, flesh reknitting in seconds as crackling energy pours out of its body.

(Roll, Snorri Vs. The Growing Hunger: 21 +30[Real Angry Old Grumbler] +5[Protective Elder] +10[Arriving Dwarfs] =66 vs. 48 +50[Drawing More] =98)

7​

You note that the shield that has so far kept you safe is flickering, you dare glance up and note the creature has spawned yet more arms, this time of the gangly variety, each firing lances of multicoloured light at you and the surrounding dwarfs.

The glance costs you.

A hammer blow that, despite the efforts of your armour, you can feel break ribs as it sends you flying through the air.

Your mind is foggy, your vision blurred from what is no doubt a concussion and obscured by the rocks on top of you. Despite it all, you still see the beast act.

Still see it kill.

You struggle helplessly.

You see the beast, now free to act without you sapping its spells or take up its attention, make its way through the ranks of the Throng. Sweeps of its blade and lances of burning energy bisecting and vaporizing Longbeard and Beardling alike. You watch as some brave dwarfs desperately rally and charge the beast, trying to draw its attention, only to be cut down like wheat to the sickle. Your warning proving true time and time again as the front line begins to crumble under the combined assault. The creature's arms tear their bodies apart and rip the armour off their corpses, stuffing it into that contemptuous sack still hanging from its back. Their weapons taken up and used against their still-living comrades.

No.

You feel your body raise itself out of the rubble, will doing what flesh can no longer manage. A group of Longbeards make a desperate stand, buying enough time for a young runesmith to close a portal before all of them are killed with nary a thought.

NO.

Breathing is difficult, your arm grabs about blindly until it finds your axe. You watch it lift a dwarf with its hand and toss it at a band of miners, the impact and screams echo with frightening clarity in your mind.

NOT AGAIN.

You tap the rune. Your axe burns, almost as if your indignation is shared by the metal.

NO MORE FAILURE.

The weight of the mountains makes the creature pause, eyes searching for the source until it sees you.

You.

In your Gromril Armor, the breastplate bent inwards in the shape of a fist, blood dripping down your face and bubbling at your lips as you breathe through the pain of broken ribs. You lift your axe, pointing in his direction then slowly move it across your neck.

A silent taunt, because you don't think you can speak without coughing up blood.

It screeches in hate.

The both of you charge at the other, heedless of anything else.

(Snorri Vs Trollpus: 38 +50[No More Failure] =88 Vs 7 +55[Unending Growth] =62)

6​

The rune of impact is a strange thing. It is meant to improve the speed of a charging dwarf, pushing energy into the legs and amplifying the effective mass of the wearer. That rune shines brightly, pushing legs that are fueled by indignant fury to higher heights. Turning the considerable mass of a full set of Gromril Plate into a deadly weapon. You step once, twice, three, four, five times before you find yourself behind the staggered beast. Two bloody stumps where its legs ripped were away by the force of your charge, even as the flesh reknits with unnatural and terrifying speed.

The creature pushes itself up with two of its arms and snarls as it turns-

-to see your bloody visage, axe aimed for its neck, a look of rage on your face. If it had looked harder it would see the Rune of Impact on your armour had gone dark, reserves spent.

Desperately it blocks, losing five arms to slow down the momentum of your swing, then loses five more as its shoulder is carbonized by the heat of your hammer as it strikes true.

It charges a spell.

You sever the hands casting it, the magical feedback of the miscast being eaten by your glowing amulet.

It forces more power into its body, unnatural light glowing behind its eyes, limbs regenerating faster but more disfigured than what was there before.

You simply destroy them faster. Your hammer and axe leaving a trail of dismembered and slowly disintegrating limbs in the wake of your push.

For all that it regrows the damage you do, you still hurt it faster than it can regenerate. Slowly, but surely pushing it towards one of the many chasms to the west of the hill. With the beast now preoccupied once more, the Throng rallies one final time, their hearts soaring at the sight of you fighting and winning against the daemon.

(Roll, Snorri Vs. Trollpus 2: 14 +50[No More Failure] =64 Vs 46 + 50[Growth stymied] =96)

5​

As if sensing defeat, the troll roars, forcing more magick into its body, pushing it farther and farther beyond its mortal limits. You can see the tears in its form now, multicoloured light bubbling beneath like a cauldron of the foulest brew. This second wind forces you to slow almost to a halt, the exchange slowly coming back to the troll's favour. Its guttural cry growing more and more grotesque as stolen power bloats its body.

You snarl.

(Roll, Snorri Vs. Trollpus 3: 9 +50[No More Failure] =59 Vs 10 + 55[Growth stymied] -5[Mounting Unreality] =60)

4​

With more effort, pushing your old bones and weary muscles to move through the sheer force of will only an enraged Longbeard can bring to bear. But it is not enough, you can only match the empowered beast blow for blow now. Your push towards the gas venting chasms stopped in its entirety. The sight of quarrels piercing its flesh, dealing only cosmetic damage reminds you that you cannot stop. The Throng is counting on you, for none are able to truly deal with the beast in a meaningful manner save you.

(Roll, Snorri Vs. Trollpus 4: 39 +50[No More Failure] =89 Vs 44 + 60[Growth Unending] -10[Corrosive Power] =94)

3​

For all your effort, for all your skill, you begin to be forced back. The former Greedy One is beginning to grow even beyond your rage-fueled power to push back.

What does anyone do in the face of defeat?

What does a man do when they stare down at their efforts and see it fall short?

You don't know.

You know what a dwarf does though.

Stare their doom in the eye and grapple it off the cliff with it.

(Roll, 5: 4 +50 =54 Vs 33 +65[Ceaseless Consumption] -15[Tearing Apart] =83)

2​

Your arm is broken by a hammer blow, the Gromril failing.

You swing it anyway.

Your leg is broken by a lance of eldritch light.

You stand regardless.

Your jaw is broken by a blow from a fallen Longbeard's hammer.

You spit in the troll's eye. Causing the creature to roar in hate, its form bulging and twisting with unnatural energy.

Your Cloak Burns, sensing a daemon.

(Roll, 6: 6 +50 +10[Daemonward] =66 Vs 33 +70[MORE. MORE POWER] -20[More than Mortal limits] =83)

1​

(Roll, Ascendance 1d50: 3)

The daemon laughs, a guttural sound made up of thousands of voices.

"You have FAILED. Runelord! YOUR BODY IS BROKEN, YOUR WEAPONS USELESS, WHEN I BREAK YOUR WILL, I WILL KILL YOUR KIN AND SUNDER YOUR HOLD FROM EXISTENCE! I-" the beast stops, eyes growing wide. The cracks all over its body, pulsating with chaotic light, grow brighter and brighter until you can barely see.

"NO. NO! IT IS MINE. BY RIGHTS IT IS MINE! MINE AND MINE ALONE!" it babbles incoherently, arms doing their best to close the forming cracks on its body. Its form begins to balloon out, energy and souls swirling in a chaotic cacophony that threatens to tear it apart from the inside.

Despite your state, you find it in yourself to snort. A calm fills your mind, the memory of golden plaits, and warm green eyes crinkled in mirth at the forefront of your mind.

I'm coming love.

You stand a bit straighter.

Just one last thing to do.

(Roll, One last gasp: 40)

You will your body forward, dropping your axe and hammer to the ground with a quiet crunch as they fall into the snow. You watch the would-be daemon, its form bulging and twisting as the energies and souls it has consumed begin to push out of its body. The sight of faces pressed against its flesh struggling to be let out would disgust you, had you the energy to feel anything but the all-encompassing calm you currently feel.

With one last, all-mighty effort, you charge, head down.

Your helm gores the Troll, pinning it to you as its flesh grows around the intrusions into its torso.

You run, pushing the engored body back.

The beast digs in its heels.

You push regardless, the distance between the two of you and the chasm closing by meters.

It rains hammer blows down on your back, the bone-crushing force stunted by your glowing cloak and Gromril armour into simple bruises and cracks.

You push regardless, another meter.

It rains lances of energy down on you, but your amulet still functions, drawing in the energy and forming a shield around you.

You push regardless.

When at last you reach the cliff's edge, your relentless charge ceaselessly pushing it back despite its weakening efforts does the beast scream in hate, grabbing at you weakly as it slides off the cliff, body more akin to a great ball of multicoloured lights shining through flaking flesh.

Its arms find no purchase in your armour, slipping off gracelessly. It grabs at the cloak, but the fabric simply tears in its claws. It grasps at your helmet, but it simply flies off your head as the beast falls to its doom.

You slump bonelessly at the chasm's edge, smiling serenely and wait.

One.

Two.

Thre-

- a great flash of light, magic and superheated gas erupts in an explosion of stone, hot air, and steam; sending you flying, and tearing a great crater in the earth.

BATTLE END. THE UNENDING AVARICE HAS BEEN SLAIN.​

Gain:
- GRUDGE AVENGED.
- Literal tonnes of Trollparts.
- +1 Standing, +50 favours with Kraka Drakk, new totals: 8 Standing, 70 favours. Standing gain(if any) for others will propagate over the course of turns as news spreads.
- [Tier 5]The Greedy One's Heart: Popped out of its body by a swift hammer blow from Snorri Gift Giver. The heart beats endlessly even when it has long since run out of blood, a piece of something from when it still was mortal. A fragment of a troll that was.
- Legendary Deed: The Greed Slayer
At the Battle of the Dragon's Maw, Snorri Klausson slew an innumerable horde of daemons and Trolls. Alone he faced the army, rallying dwarfs and holding back the tide. Single-Handedly fighting their master, a fel troll of titanic size who had grown strong from consuming enumerable daemons, The Greedy One. Longbeards speak of that titanic clash, worthy of the greatest sagas, as Snorri and the Troll clashed at the top of Trollbane Hill, the Runelord's relentless assault pushing the beast down the slope and eventually over a chasm into the superheated gas vents below. The resulting explosion created a crater large enough to swallow a hold.
Traits Gained:
- Trollbane: Trolls will fear you and your works, the echoes of your deed filling their minds with terror. The terrible ruination you dealt upon the trolls this day marks your presence both in history and the metaphysical realm.
- Winds Dispersed: All Enemy Spells will suffer -15 automatically if Snorri takes the field. The power of your amulet and your continuous use of it throughout the battle has imparted a part of itself to you, turning your natural immunity to magic into a tangible effect that can cripple enemy casters.
- +5 to [Really Old Grumbler] modifier, new Total: 25

AN: I wanted to keep my oath and get this out before midnight. As always, C&C and thank you for reading :^) Edits to the front page and your traits tomorrow. Now I sleep.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote.

[X] Plan The Shine of Metal and Blood
-[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 10 turns.
-[X] Khazukan Kazakit-HA!: March out with the throng once more. Raise your war axe and slay them. Battle Turns
-[X] [Simple] Foundry Founding.: [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. 2 Actions and Apprentice action.
-[X] [Simple] Altar Assembly: [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. Grudge has proc'd. 1 Action.
-[X] The Rune Metal: [Cost: ???-1 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc. 1 Action

Click to shrink...

…​

You blearily open your eyes, the sight of the familiar stone ceiling of the Temple of Valaya greeting you.

"Mmrp" you try to speak, before realizing something is keeping your jaw in place.

"I wouldn't do that Rhunrikki," a wizened old voice says from the corner.

You lift your head from the pillow and catch sight of the hold's High Priestess of Valaya and one of the few dwarfs here older than you. Moira Anguzdottir of Clan Ironarm, the hoops of her snow-white plaits touching the floor, sits on a chair watching you bemusedly.

With your mouth stuck as it is, you simply raise a brow.

She laughs softly before getting up and walking over to stand to the left of your bed, "Your bit of foolishness did quite the doozy on you. The broken jaw, for one thing, had to feed you brew through a straw. Left Femur broken in four places, cleanly thank the ancestors. Right arm dislocated and broken in a further two places. Don't even get me started on the mess that your ribs were when they brought you in. Foolish in the extreme, beardlings wish they could do stunts of such stupidity. I should wring your head and ask the Ancestors how you decided it was smart to fight a troll over eight times your size alone," she finishes with a disbelieving shake, plaits swinging with the motion of her head.

Oh.

You haven't felt this in a while, centuries really, not since your beard was still chocolate brown and barely past your chest.

The familiar shame of disappointing an elder runs through you again for the first time in a long time.

And not even normally! The terrifyingly effective mix of disappointment and worry that dwarf matrons have honed to a level beyond even the most curmudgeonly Longbeard bears down on you like a mountain range.

"But!" she says, pausing to look at you seriously, "but your actions saved many that day, my great-grandchildren included. And made the casualties far less ruinous than they could have been," she continues, watching sadly as you remember the events of the battle.

You attempt to ask the obvious question but she simply shushes you.

"Alright alright, don't jostle the brace you daft idiot," she chides before taking a moment to compose herself.

"A third," she says flatly, a small frown on her face, "a third of the throng sent out was killed or wounded. Not terrible considering the circumstances, but we lost some hundred more in the Temple, despite our best efforts. We've already interred them, whole hold turned out for it, not just their clans. But enough sadness, two-thirds survived. That's a good many dwarfs that live on in no small part due to your efforts young one, so I don't want you getting morose over not doing enough. The world isn't kind as you should well know, and every dwarf who marched out knew what they risked. Of the living, around half suffered from only a broken limb or fractured rib that they should recover from if they follow my instructions," she emphasizes the last three words, eyes boring into yours.

You do not shrink into yourself under her gaze.

You wilt just a tad.

"I've already sent runners to inform your apprentices and the hold proper about your waking. Get ready to be a busy dwarf while you're stuck here, and no stressing your limbs or jaw, priestess' orders," she says, dusting off her hands and heading to the door.

With her back turned you look down at your broken arm and flex-

"-What. Did. I just say beardling?" she says, still turned towards the door.

You stop.

"Boys get past their fifth century and think they know what they're doing, bah," she says to herself as she walks out of the room and down the hallway, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your back falls against the bed with a muted whump, following Moira's instructions to the letter.

Well, you weren't going to fail at something so simple as lying in bed. You don't think you can stand that disappointed and worried stare aimed at you a third time.

…​

Two months later you're finally cleared enough to walk out with a crutch and sling on your arm.

You can't say you're sad to leave this place. For all of Elder Moira's efforts to make your time hospitable, being inundated by gracious dwarfs coming to you with gifts and thanks has transformed from heartwarming to bothersome. Your gratefulness and appreciation running out after one dwarf hired a skald to sing a tale of your deeds to you in a new-fangled style the beardling's were raving about.

Five times.

As you walk through the Halls of Healing on your way out, apprentices trailing behind you, your presence catches the attention of the many dwarfs still here recuperating. Eyes brighten, backs sit up straighter, and a quiet cheer goes up before it's shushed by the priests and priestesses. Those who can bow from their bed do so and those who can't find other ways to acknowledge your presence.

A particularly rowdy dwarf with both his arms in slings tries to restart the cheer before he is shushed by High Priestess Moira, hanging his head in shame as she chides him.

You later learn the dwarf in question was her great-grandson Orrek Oakenfist, a longbeard of four hundred years and the second in command of Thane Otrek Ironarm at the battle.

Walking out into the hold proper you see dwarfs going about their day all stop to pay more respects to you than even you were used to. Elders huff approvingly and adults bow at your passing before pushing along gobsmacked beardlings and children.

...​

In the months you spent in the Temple of Valaya, recuperating from your wounds, you were not sitting idly. From the comfort of that bed, you were wracking your head at the memory from all those decades ago. The glitter of silver and flash of pure white coming to your mind with ease and perfect clarity as if it was only a day ago. As a Runelord you're more knowledgeable than most about the properties of Gromril. Though this body of knowledge was mostly in the practicalities of working the metal itself. Harder and rarer than anything your people have found in their long history, and most importantly for your profession, took to runes like elders and grumbling.

You could explain how to know if an ingot was pure enough for the Master Rune of Gromril, the exact hue for when the metal is most easily shaped into a specific type of armour or weapon. A thousand different measurements and calculations when taking oxidation into account during forging. Things that any master smith could mumble in their sleep.

But knowing Gromril, understanding the why and how of its existence, what made it take to runes so well. That was the realm of the eldest master smiths and a group like the Brotherhood of Dron.

You suppose you'll have to do what a group of Runelords and Master Smiths have been attempting for centuries.

Bah.

…​

You return to the Temple of Valaya after you've fully healed both your limbs and your jaw. Of course, you came here a day before seeking Elder Moira's agreement about your fitness to begin working here.

Couldn't do with her chiding you in front of the beardlings

Speaking of, you turn and gaze disappointedly at your two apprentices, their forms struggling to push the wagons laden with tools, several hundred pounds of troll parts and the other necessary reagents for the runes you were going to inscribe.

Honestly, when your master made you pull the cart he forbade you to have wheels at all!

Shameful.

"Hurry now beardlings, the priestesses of Valaya shouldn't wait any longer than they have to," you say biting into a piece of stonebread.

"Yes Master!" they both shout, struggling with renewed vigour.

"Well well, look whose come back to finish their job," a familiar voice calls from the top of the temple steps.

"Ah, Honoured Elder, apologies for the tardiness, these beardlings I have taken on as apprentices have decided to dawdle about you see," you reply conversationally as you jut your chin at your young charges.

"Ah yes," the old matron says nodding, "of course, that must be quite the heavy load indeed. What is it, a tonne and a half each?"

"Sadly no Elder, just shy of five hundred pounds for 'em. They don't have the constitution you see."

The wizened old woman just tuts with disappointment.

…​

The art of inscribing the Runes that represent the individual Ancestor Gods is an especially sacred one. Runesmiths argue over the reason but the reality is clear, the Runes of the Ancestors encompass what dwarfs associate with that specific ancestor and depending on the item they are inscribed on, change their effect.

All this, done without altering the Rune itself as a runesmith normally would.

The Rune of Impact that you bore on your armour for instance, was a derivative of the original Rune discovered and used on mining tools. You'd put that very rune on many of the picks you enchanted a decade or two ago. But continuing with the point, the Rune of Impact was altered to work on armour according to the principles of the Rule of Form. The art of discovering which alterations made a Rune suitable for inscription is often what many a runesmith would get stuck on. It was honestly a topic you loved teaching and thinking about, but that was for another time.

Back to the point at hand, the Runes of the Ancestors were different. Alterations need not happen as there was only one way they were inscribed, one set of reagents used, whether it was on armour, a weapon or a talisman. The amount of the material may change depending on the size of the rune, but the proportions, the geometry and the exact order of strikes the Rune was struck in did not change.

And that boggles the mind of many a runesmith.

A good few simply chalk it up to the Ancestors being above their understanding, others still, pointed to the Theory of Language and used both in conjunction as proof both of the Ancestor's divinity and their natural skill. For the Rune encompassed each definition equally, almost as if it knew what it was being inscribed on and chose the best effect.

Take the rune of Valaya you were inscribing now. Once complete, the Rune, along with a host of other effects, would enhance things, other Runes included, that encompassed the kind of themes and topics one associated with Valaya herself. Healing brews grew tastier, hearths grew warmer, walls felt sturdier, Runes of warding grew stronger, Runes of Healing more potent the list went on and on. This wasn't just hearsay or gut intuition either, this effect was an extensively tested and recorded phenomenon because Runesmiths of times past were so flummoxed that they measured the effect to make sure they weren't going mad.

Perhaps only the Burudin had a good idea as to why the Ancestor Runes worked as they did, and if so, you certainly were not privy to that bit of knowledge.

Things to ponder or confuse your apprentices with for another day you suppose, the rest of the temples needed your attention too after all.

…​

Near the decade's end, just shy of your 587th birthday, you finally get around to inscribing Runes in the foundry district.

A natural consequence of both Urban Planning and natural dwarf tendency to like things squared away in their proper place. The location of the foundry district is part of a trinity between itself, the market district and the residential district. Both foundry and market were arrayed closer towards the hold's entrance and the residential, obviously farther away and deeper in the mountain. This, of course, made a sort of sense especially when the hold wasn't connected to the Ungdrin and its Gromril mine lied outside of the hold itself. Cutting down the distance carts full of unrefined material and visiting caravans travelled to go about their business.

But that bit of knowledge was important to you because it affected how you were going about inscribing the runes of filtration that would cleanse the heated air of the foundry as well-engineered ventilation ducts allowed it to spread throughout the hold.

You thankfully didn't have to go inside the damn things, simply inscribe runes on the steel grates that the air flows in or out of.

That task takes you the better part of a year, the number of the vents and their out of reach locations at the very least making good practice for your apprentices as they haul material to and from where you are. You're so secretly impressed by their gusto that you give them the honour of wiping the grates clean of the muck and ash that gets caught as it's pulled in by the standard convection current throughout the hold the masons created with a bout of clever stonework. Despite the efforts of your people to keep their airflow clean, either by piping the smog from their forges directly out of the mountain, or some other trick of engineering, only runes have so far proved to be foolproof.

With that done the task moves on to the task of laboriously inscribing the Rune of Morgrim and Smednir in their respective institution's guildhalls.

Morgrim, a poetic sort would call him Thungni's counterpart, machine precision over artisan craftsmanship. But the reality was that both groups required an equal amount of technical skill to do their jobs with any amount of efficiency, the difference lied in the expression of that skill.

Runesmiths were ill at ease with continuously making the same array of runes over and over again, it went against a literal rule of the guild but did so grudgingly for the benefit of dwarfkind. A runesmith prided themself in making something unique, something that no one else could rival in terms of craftsmanship and skill.

Engineers on the other hand you found, sought uniformity and ever greater standardization. To be sure there was some young firebrand making some innovation, or an individual customizing or adding modifications to their tools but their end goal was to implement their change wholesale and make it the standard that all other engineers followed and saw as good sense.

But if Engineering and Runesmithing were so different, then Smednir's craft was what bridged the three trades into a cohesive unit that sought to improve the lives of all dwarfs.

After all, a good rune requires material worthy of bearing it, and a war machine worth the name cant be made from unsound wood or impure ingots. All the skills and knowledge in the world couldn't make up for shoddy material.

During your time there you are met by a group of master smiths and miners from Clans Grimseal, Steelbeard, Silvereyes and Grimlisson who come on behalf of their clans with a proposition for you. You see, during the Battle At the Dragon's Maw the Patriarchs of these various clans all came to the aid of the others at one point or another, and they along with many members of their clansmen have sworn oaths of fellowship and sealed many a marriage contract with each other to commemorate that glorious victory.

In that vein, the Thanes, with the backing of the clans' elders, have agreed that in the spirit of cooperation, to found a large smelter capable of smelting Pure Gromril for their clans' smiths to work into weapons or sell as ingots locally and abroad. They were wondering if and whether you'd be interested in a commission to apply the runes necessary for the process.

You do them one better and offer to apply a heavy amount of funding towards the project from your coffers on the condition that the facility is expanded to be capable of letting smiths outside their clans the opportunity to coordinate and pay to smelt Pure Gromril for themselves.

The group before you say that such an offer was beyond their remit to negotiate and would have to deliberate with their respective Thanes.

Somehow word got out, and another coalition of clans came to you with the same offer months later, just as the original coalition came back with a response of their own.

Realizing where this could potentially lead, you acted swiftly and politely requested to discuss this matter with the Thanes in person.

Acquiescing to your wisdom, and beard, both parties left soon after to bring their Patriarchs back with them.

The Thanes arrive more months later, behind them are other Thanes from the hold who were brought onto side with offers and deals.

You scoff so loudly at the sight of so many dwarfs, your disappointment at this type of petty strife in the wake of such a momentous victory only years before. After all, all of you had shed blood for the other, perhaps not as directly as some clans have, but did not dwarf fight for dwarf on that blasted hill? Did you all not lose grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, children to the depravity of troll and daemon alike? How easily did they forget the blood that spilled on that ground was not just for the clan, but for the hold.

You gaze at them all disapprovingly, the weight of your gaze and magnificence of your beard making Elders well into their fourth century look down in shame.

If this was getting done, it would be done right.

So it was, that after another round of, now more amicable, negotiations that a facility for smelting Pure Gromril would be built for the good and use of all within the hold, with an equal proportionate contribution from all clans in the hold, while yours is the largest individual contribution by sheer dint of wealth you owned through a long life of good business decisions and the ownership of the aforementioned Gromril mine that made this endeavour possible.

You haven't finished the work but have gotten a good way through by the decade's end.


Gain:
- Through a combination of your overflow, reputation in the hold, and personal tendencies you have advanced the foundry chain down a path to creating a smelter to be used by all in the hold for producing Pure Gromril. Though its output may not match the sheer scale of a place as established like Karak Azul or Zhufbar, you will produce enough metal to suit your needs, and given time perhaps the whole region or even match those vaunted southern holds. Action Unlocked and partly completed.
- Temple District has been properly runed with the relevant Ancestor Runes. The number of troll parts from the battle has allowed you to produce far more runes of healing than you had expected. Improving the Temple of Valaya's effectiveness at helping dwarfs recover from wounds by a small but noticeable amount.
- Started down the path of the Rune Metal, total research for this stage revealed. [Cost: (5-1) =4 actions]

AN: Now something I'm far happier with. A nice combination of action synergy and you've finally gotten some research done, hurray! As Always C&C and thank you for reading :^)

 

[soulcake]

After your little excursion thoroughly depopulated most of the trolls in the region there has been relative peace in the North, the caravans return with a vengeance as the tale of your deeds spread, prompting entrepreneurial merchants and settlers seeking opportunity to flock to your hold. All of these dwarfs eagre to exploit the Gromril of your home and newly struck veins of ores and gems farther north.

Sadly the same cannot be said everywhere throughout the Karaz Ankor.

Apparently, around five years ago a horde of daemons assaulted a minor hold north of Ungor named Karak Rikkaraz, named after a large stone formation shaped vaguely like a dropped hammer, and held it under siege for two years before Grimnir Himself led a throng to relieve them. Despite the Ancestor's timely intervention a good amount of the Karak is ruined, its defensive perimeter breached in a multitude of places with the fighting having found its way into the halls of the hold itself. Even now the dwarfs of that place have begun the laborious process of rebuilding, extended members of the clans sending what supplies and aid they can to their kin. It will be decades before Rikkaraz recovers, perhaps even centuries, but it will recover. The dwarfen mentality scoffing at the thought of relocation of not only their home, but now a site where Grimnir himself sundered an army?

Ridiculous.

Your thoughts move away from that bit of depressing news and onto a lighter, but equally depressing sight.

"What is this Fjolla? A Rune of Warding or some pickaxe scratch a bored beardling carved into the walls of a mineshaft!? Again! And stop letting up on the fifth hit, the power you lose from that mistake could make the difference between a dead dwarf and a living one,"

"Yes master!" the almost-fullbeard, shouts, her hammer striking with renewed purpose.

You simply huff, having moved to glare over Dolgi's back as he inscribes a rune on a bolt thrower the Engineer's guild donated. A shoddy piece some beardling crapped out to be used for practice if nothing else. Apparently didn't meet their standards, expected lifespan of only three decades.

What beardling shamed their ancestors building this thing?

"DOLGI!" you shout from behind him, eyes scanning for even the slightest hint that you've startled the boy.

There, a small waver in his hammer blow, almost imperceptible really.

If you were blind.

"Almost a dwarf grown lad, can't believe you still jump at this. I've been going at even intervals for Morgrim's sake! Seen goats who don't startle as easily as you do!"

"Yes master!" your other apprentice shouts.

"Keep working the both of you! I'll be back in an hour, I don't want to see even a dip in pace, and don't think I won't notice!" you holler at them, already heading out of the door.

As the door shuts behind you with a solid thud, your face splits open into a wide grin.

Only thirty years and they've gotten to a level most apprentices didn't reach until their sixth, maybe seventh decade of learning.

Brought a tear to your eye, metaphorically.

You knew you were good, but this good?

Bah, best not get your head too full. These beardlings weren't leaving your tutelage anytime soon, only a quarter of the way through really. Still plenty of time to fill their heads with enough Runelore for you to feel comfortable sending them out as your apprentices.

A master would never say so, but would learn soon into their career, that apprentices were also a form of prestige. Masters who taught great Runelords were widely respected for their skill at teaching, and so the quality of the apprentice often reflected the ability of the master. In that way, the apprentice was like anything that left a dwarf's workshop, made, or taught in this case, with intense labour and the accompanying standards thereof. Albeit, it took far longer to get anything worth the description of 'useful' out of them than an axe or hammer did.

The talents of the apprentice meanwhile, were less acknowledged.

For one thing, they were apprentices, and as the saying went 'good ore still needs to be smelted.' For the other, well no Longbeard would compliment the work of a beardling barring true prodigies like The Twenty Loops, and maybe Fjolla if she stopped faffing about.

Shaking your head, you push the thought of foolish beardlings from your mind and head into the hold.

You have some Dragon's Blood to get.

…​

The Market District is bustling with activity as dwarfs start the day and buy their groceries. You trundle past Longbeards corralling their younger relatives out of the way, frantic apprentices trying to get the attention of busy merchants and elderly matrons weaving through the hustle and bustle with dignified grace. To your left, the scent of fresh bread wafts out of the bakeries, to your right the heady odour of newly tapped kegs of good dwarfen brew. But you aren't here for just a drink and a few loaves of fresh stonebread.

You're here on business.

Finally after scanning the crowd of merchants you catch sight of the one you were looking for, a long train of carts bearing the symbol of a simple chest full of treasure giving the owner away.

"Jorri Klausson you old gravel brained tosser!" you call out, walking towards a familiar-looking merchant just finishing his business with a kindly old dwarf woman.

"Snorri! You cantankerous old Longbeard! Your head gotten fat from all that praise getting to you, you rockhead?" the Dwarf, who bears a striking similarity to you, shouts back as they turn to face you with a wide grin.

"Brother!" the both of you shout in unison.

...​

Jorri, the youngest of your siblings and the one with the greatest wanderlust. The only thing that stopped him from taking the path of the ranger was his lifelong infatuation with his now-wife, your sister-in-law Magna, and frankly sickeningly sweet attachment to her.

You remember father sighing in relief the day Jorri came to him asking for his permission to marry her instead of telling him he was going to disappear into the wilds.

With a new wife and hope for many children, Jorri chose to settle down in a profession that would sate his wanderlust in some way by becoming a merchant with a specialty for good solid metalwork and the odd, unique things in the world. Over these past three centuries, managing to leverage familial ties and his magnetic personality to create quite a lucrative business for his family.

"Where's Magna?" you ask looking around the mass of carts for the only woman Jorri's had his eyes on since before he had a beard.

"Bah, off haggling with some miners for more of that wonderful Gromril you found, Azul's always hankering for the stuff and we wanted to attend cousin Gokri's great-grandson's wedding. You know the one? Jarri, with the red hair?" he explains.

"Jarri with five rings or Jarri with the odd thumbs?" you reply conversationally, following Jorri as he walks past cart after cart towards your destination.

"Odd thumbs. A hefty bride price for the lass too, old Garek's sweating bullets every time he sees her. Oh before I forget, how's our grandniece? Igun asked me to check in with you while I was up here, don't know why of course. Seeing as the both of you send letters every month. Is this..? No, that's goats cheese. Where did I, oh! Next one Snorri, that's where I put it I'm certain."

"Well enough," you reply to his question, well used to his odd tangents. Looking around and inside the carts to see neatly stored goods. Racks of master-crafted weapons and armour as well as crates with odd labels like 'Trollstones', 'griffon bladder', and things of that nature.

"That good?" he says, turning to face you with wide eyes.

"Bah," you say, "don't let Fjolla know I said that, but the girl's twice as good as Dolgi and Dolgi's five times better than any apprentice I've seen. Both can be Runelords, Fjolla maybe even Burudin material when she's old enough. Only if they get their arses out of their heads at some point, but I'm hopeful," you finish with finality, conviction evident.

"High praise," Jorri says.

"I taught 'em well," you answer, sniffing once.

Both of you share a grin before you start to chortle.

...​

Finally the two of you reach a cart near the back of the caravan, seeing two stout dwarf Longbeards standing guard.

"Gotri, Gotrek! Greet your uncle while I get his package," Jorri says as he climbs into the cart and rustles about.

"Hello Elder," both twins say in unison, heads bowed.

Gotri and Gotrek were the eldest pair of Jorri's seven children, young dwarfs who only recently reached their second century.

"Hello nephews, how's your mother doing?" you ask them.

"She's doing well Uncle, excited to visit Azul after this," Gotrek says, while Gotri nods.

Good, solid boys these two. Magna's influence no doubt, two more dwarfs like Jorri perhaps too much even for her.

"Here it is!" Jorri shouts out from within the cart, coming out of the vehicle carrying a large metal cask, forms of the Rune of Preservation, Slowing and Stability glowing brightly on its surface.

Setting it down, he rests an elbow on it and grins at you.

"One keg of Drakk blood as per your order," he says, voice going serious.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure Jorri, I think I see a scratch on the bottom there, " you hem and haw, teasing inflection in your voice. Reminding him of a particularly embarrassing moment of his youth.

"Bah!" Jorri shouts, "that Wazzock Gontri Goldeyes did that and you know full well!" he says, beginning his signature tirade about his 'rival.'

Ah, family.

…
​

"Snorri," Jorri says suddenly, oddly serious, during your walk back to the Workshop, the twins well out of earshot.

"Hmmm?" you ask, looking at him questioningly.

"How bad was it?"

"Hmmph, don't think I can take a hit do you?" You say, trying and failing to lighten the mood with a bit of banter.

"Brother," he says, eyes boring into you.

You walk silently for a moment, brows furrowed before finally replying.

"...One of the worst fights I've fought in my life so far. Near the end of it, the beast started to win before he got bloated from all the magic he was eating. Not gonna lie Jorri, thought I'd meet Her and Hrokri at the end of it. Lucky I got out of there with only two broken limbs and a broken jaw. But don't you fret, I came out of that scrap the victor in the end didn't I?" you finish, smiling slightly at him.

"I'm glad your alive brother," he whispers, wrapping an arm over your shoulder.

"Me too," you say before continuing, "Got too much left undone to go about dying now don't I?"

"Pure Gromril smelter or something thereabouts right?" Jorri asks.

"Hmmm," you reply noncommittally.

"Willing to pass a few bars to your favourite brother Jorri when it's done? My anniversary is coming up and Magna dese-" he begins before you cut him off.

"-Alright, alright. I'll do it for Magna, as a gift for her anniversary. If only to thank her for getting you out of my beard," you sigh dramatically.

The rest of the walk is filled with a companionable silence, with only the sound of crunching snow and the huffing of cold air to accompany you, until your small group reaches the Workshop's entrance. Jorri whistling at the sight.

"My my, is that four bolt-throwers?" Jorri mutters, respect for the craftsmanship evident in his voice.

"Its actually six," you reply back, beard puffed out proudly.

"Now how'd you go about doing that?" your brother asks, tilting this way and that to try and find the other two bolt throwers.

"A clever bit of placement actually. Rather obvious in hindsight, ya see I-"

...​

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions this turn:
General:
[ ] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: You've a workshop and a home fit for a Runelord, but in your mind's eye you see yet more things to do. Any research regarding the Master Runes will require a level of protection that your current facility simply doesn't have. The cost is irrelevant, it is the materials you need that are the true bottleneck. You've got the Gromril and Dragon Blood necessary for the Rune you need now. [Cost: 2 actions, -1 vial of Dragon's Blood-]
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 9 turns.

Requests: Denote which simple request will receive the Apprentice Action in your plan.
[ ] [Simple] Pure Gromril: Somehow you finagled the clans of the hold to agree to the idea of a communal smelter capable of making Pure Gromril. You've got a decent portion of the work down already, and the clans are pitching in and the structure is beginning to take shape. It is a work of art and craftsmanship as the workers have especially good reason to see a job well done; the smelter will be an engine of great wealth for the hold and clans that use it, and of course to show rivals how their clan is better at this task or other. [Cost: (6-2) =4 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Runic Warmachines: The Engineer's guild has come to you with a request to improve the hold's war machines with the power of Runes. Their losses at the Battle at the Dragon's Maw is a stinging blow that shames them. Not that any dwarf blames the engineers or claims they didn't do their part, not much can be done when a bunch of daemons spawn on top of your position and destroy your artillery after all, but the event has lit a fire under their collective arses. The previous decade was spent cranking out bolt and grudge throwers by the dozen and what better way to make even deadlier machines than with runes? Well, it's sound logic, runes always make things better. [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Difficult] Trollslayer Pt. 1: Thane Ironarm has come to you with a simple request. An axe worthy of commemorating the momentous victory at the Dragon's Maw. He trusts you to make an axe worthy of the prospective title Trollslayer and is willing to wait for the product for however long it takes. After all, how can he not have faith in you after everything that's happened? First, you have to figure out what runes you want on this damn thing. [Cost: 1 action] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
- [ ] Choose: pick three runes you want on the weapon.
- [ ] Theme: write in a theme for the weapon. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)
- [ ] GM: Leave it to the GM. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)
If a rune you want requires special ingredients that you don't have access to I will alert you. If I am given the choice you won't have to worry about that. A good rule of thumb on if it will likely need ingredients is if it's a Master Rune or it's a rune you've developed and know it will need ingredients you don't have. Pt 2. will cost 1 more action + whatever ingredients, if any, you need FYI.

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Greedy One's Heart: This thing has been transferred to a warded container because you don't really trust anything that came from that thing. You're all but certain you could make a truly potent Master Rune of Healing or Fortitude with this thing, but perhaps there are other uses for it you could come up with that a battery of tests could reveal. [Cost: 4 actions.] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2) =6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal: The miners say all the Gromril's as pure as anything they've ever seen, purer even, but no word of brilliant silver or pure white streaks. Coming back to the cave days later to see for yourself and you can't say they're lying either. But yet… but yet you can't, almost refuse to get the image out of your head. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it may not be. Its been decades but the memory refuses to leave you. You've gotten a start, but there's a bit left to go. [Cost: (6-2) =4 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[-] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

Remember to vote by plan.

AN: C&C always, and thank you for reading :^)

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote

[X] Plan Rune Metal and starting the workshop
-[X] The Rune Metal: The miners say all the Gromril's as pure as anything they've ever seen, purer even, but no word of brilliant silver or pure white streaks. Coming back to the cave days later to see for yourself and you can't say they're lying either. But yet… but yet you can't, almost refuse to get the image out of your head. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it may not be. Its been decades but the memory refuses to leave you. You've gotten a start, but there's a bit left to go. [Cost: (6-2) =4 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
--[X] 3 actions
-[X] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: You've a workshop and a home fit for a Runelord, but in your mind's eye you see yet more things to do. Any research regarding the Master Runes will require a level of protection that your current facility simply doesn't have. The cost is irrelevant, it is the materials you need that are the true bottleneck. You've got the Gromril and Dragon Blood necessary for the Rune you need now. [Cost: 2 actions, -1 vial of Dragon's Blood-]
--[X] 1 action
-[X] [Simple] Pure Gromril: Somehow you finagled the clans of the hold to agree to the idea of a communal smelter capable of making Pure Gromril. You've got a decent portion of the work down already, and the clans are pitching in and the structure is beginning to take shape. It is a work of art and craftsmanship as the workers have especially good reason to see a job well done; the smelter will be an engine of great wealth for the hold and clans that use it, and of course to show rivals how their clan is better at this task or other. [Cost: (6-2) =4 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
--[X] Apprentice action

Click to shrink...

…​

You quietly walk through the halls of the Hold, a simple red cloak and a bulging sack that bears the Runes of Concealment, Lightstep and Silence. You're dressed more like a simple ranger than a Runelord ought to be, but despite all sense and logic you cannot help but conceal this little yearly excursion of yours.

Up ahead you see a group of beardlings laughing, clearly having just left one of the local taverns and on their way home. As you get closer you see the glinting emblem of Clan Dromminling, a clan of miners who were part of the original expedition, many of whose members worked in the mines surrounding the area though mostly centred around the Gromril mine.

"Goren save yourself the effort, the Rhunrikki's apprentice is out of your league," one young beardling chortles.

"I'm not trying anything, wouldn't be proper anyway. I can't believe the lot of you. I answer a question honestly and this is what I get!" a dwarf you presume is Goren grumbles back good-naturedly.

"We aren't mocking you for answering the question friend, it's for describing her like a Skald recanting the beauty of Valaya," another snaps back with a chuckle.

"I answered honestly!" he bites back hotly.

"Aye ya did, which makes it even funnier!" one says, causing the whole group to laugh.

"The lot of you shush now, forgive us for disturbing you Elder," the seemingly oldest of them says, turning to you and bowing, followed swiftly by his fellows.

You snort, give them all a standard glare of disapproval and move on without a word.

"Elder looked familiar," you hear one of the beardlings note from behind you.

"Where did you meet a ranger with a beard like that?" another says, their voices beginning to fade.

"Don't rightly recall," is the last thing you hear from that group before it becomes unintelligible for even your keen hearing.

Hmmph.

Best to write to Iggun about it, she did ask you to keep an eye on her daughter after all, and dwarfs taking notice of Fjolla in that manner did count as something she ought to know by your reckoning. Wouldn't do for her or her husband to be surprised by a marriage offer from a different clan.

You shake your head, you wished the girl luck. Courtship was always a rather tangled mess of politics, economics and familial drama.

Luckily for you, Klaus Drokkisson was the type of father who took his children's feelings into account when approving or denying their request to marry.

Still, you didn't see Fjolla settling down anytime soon. While women were often encouraged to marry on account of their comparative rarity to men, it was just as respectable for a dwarf woman to live her life without so much as looking at a man. After all, it wasn't as if your people were in danger of dying out any more than a race usually was. Well that, and the fact that dwarf stubbornness was inherent to all of your people probably played a part.

But enough ruminating, you had things to do and errands to run.

Shifting your shoulders, you move the bulging sack back into a position you can tolerate as you make your way through the residential and towards the temple district, heading straight to the Temple of Valaya specifically.

...​

At the top of the staircase Elder Moira stood alone, patiently tapping her foot.

"Getting tired in your old age beardling? You're a good twelve seconds late, how uncouth to make a woman my age wait so long," she tuts at you.

You simply bow and apologize before following her into the temple proper.

Quietly, with the aid of runes in your case and simple skill in Moira's, the both of you make your way deep into the interior complex of the temple, into its most heavily guarded areas to reach your destination.

The Foundling Ward.

Foundlings, the thought sent a wave of sadness through you. Often enough clans took in and raised the children of their dead kinsmen themselves, the elders giving them the education their parents would have and none would be worse for wear.

But sometimes that didn't happen.

A small family who may have left their clan's hold to forge a branch in another hold being wiped out, the result of dalliances or trysts, perhaps even abandoned wholesale. The former was tragic, the latter made you think dark thoughts.

From these fates came the foundlings, children born without clan or home through no fault of their own.

The world was cruel, especially to these young dwarfs. No parents, no support network like a clan offered, no traditions save that of their people, only the priestesses of Valaya took them in, and through connections to the various guilds helped them find suitable apprenticeships so that they may make a life for themselves.

With that thought in mind you carefully lay down the sack and one by one, take out the toys you have built over the past few years in your free time, and lay them down at the foot of each child's bed. You and elder moira do this for every room, quietly entering, laying down a toy over and over until every last child has received one, the excess kept by the Temple to hand off when another inevitably arrives at your request.

You note with a tint of sadness that there are more foundlings here than all the other times you've visited, only one more in a long list of reasons to curse that abominable Troll and its horde.

"You don't have to come each time you do realize?" Elder Moira says for what feels like the umpteenth time. In reality, it's only the third time, but the point stands.

"Doesn't feel right to do it any other way," you answer honestly.

"Suit yourself," she says, a hint of exasperated humour in her voice.

"I'll be back soon enough, thank you for humouring me Elder," you say sincerely.

"Bah, off with you now beardling, I'm sure a Runelord has better things to do than drop off toys to children," she says with a shoo-ing gesture.

You say nothing as you leave, empty sack hanging from your back, but both of you know that you really didn't believe that despite any and all evidence to the contrary.

Must be that inherent dwarf stubbornness.

…​

Still, your night isn't yet over, you quietly creep up on to your two apprentices, both nursing a mug of ale in their hands as they quietly chat with the other.

"That fella, what was his name? You know the one waxing poetically about your 'oathgold plaits that shone like pure Gromril'?" Dolgi says teasingly.

"Don't you start Ruby- Head, honestly can't those wazzocks take a hint? I may need to carry an axe with me to get the point across that I have better things to do than settle down. Don't know what's worse, that fellow's poetry or that he didn't notice me sitting here not two meters way!" Fjolla grouses back, sullenly taking a sip of her drink.

"Alright, alright Goldy-locks I see your point. But still, must feel nice being noticed by someone like that," he says wistfully.

"Speaking of disasters, how's your sickeningly sweet 'definitely not a courtship' with Klorah 'soon to be Embermane' going?" she says with a grin.

"I told you it isn't a courtship!" Dolgi whispers hotly, cheeks as red as his hair, "We just talk is all. And even if there was, I'm not making it official until I'm a master runesmith in who knows how long. I can only hope she's still interested by the time I become one."

"Trust me, if anyone's more hopelessly in love than you it's Klorah, and you know the stories I told you about Granduncle Jorri," she says reassuring him with a pat on the back for good measure.

"Really?" he says, eyes glistening with unshed tears, lips trembling.

"Yes, you rockhead, really. Now stop embarrassing the both of us and finish your drink. We have lessons in a few hours and orders to complete for Master Snorri," Fjolla snarks, eyes rolling in exasperation.

Now seems a good time to cut in.

"THAT YOU DO APPRENTICE!" you boom suddenly, spooking Fjolla and sending Dolgi out of his seat in fright, "BUT YOU MUST BE MISTAKEN ABOUT LESSONS STARTING A FEW HOURS FROM NOW!"

You pull out a handful of gravel, the fine particulates glinting in the warm light of the bar.

Both of them pale.

"THEY NEVER STOPPED TO BEGIN WITH," you yell, chortling darkly.

Pocket gravel.

…​

The majority of your time is split between the workshop and the slowly rising form of the smelter complex in the hold. At this stage in construction, there isn't much to be done on your end. Only when the smelting array is complete can you begin to inscribe the Runes necessary, with that in mind you use the opportunity to train your apprentices in the art of time management.

You see, a runesmith's work was more than just inscribing the Runes themselves. There was also the task of ordering material, working with the builders to give you the time and privacy to do your work as the strictures of your guild demand.

As apprentices they didn't need to worry about such things yet, you graciously having told them of that fact many times. But it would do them well to learn how to manage the task themselves in preparation.

You send them off to order your supplies for the smelter, a list of ingredients in hand and money in their purses. Their task is to fulfill the order in the most efficient and cost-effective manner as possible.

Of course, you don't rely on them to get things right, you've made the proper arrangements with the local guildhalls a long time ago. Not that the shop owners would tell your haggard little charges, sending their own little equally in the dark apprentices to haggle with yours.

Collaborative teaching, so efficient.

…​

While your apprentices were off running themselves ragged you were busy preparing your workshop safe for the arduous task of fiddling about with Master Runes.

It was a trickier process than one would think, you and the Longbeards assisting you had to carefully carve out a room adjacent to the workshop proper, built in such a way and with the right materials so that it could withstand and be prepared to handle the magical feedback of a Master Rune experiment gone wrong.

The process takes the better part of two years, which made it difficult for much else to be done. While you trusted these Longbeards to be honourable, that was one of the main criteria when you hired their services after all, tradition and good common sense demanded you put away your work while they were inside your workshop and carving away.

By the time it was done, all but the Rune's you would use were in place. A large reinforced chamber composed of more Gromril than some dwarfs would see in their lifetime. Pillars and conduits of the Rune Metal permeating the room's structure, all meant to enhance the effects of the Rune you were going to place.

Something you knew, could account for when you were working, but did not understand why.

Bah!

…​

The rest of the decade your free time is spent in a cycle of endless repetition powered by a burning desire to know and good old Dwarf stubbornness that makes you keep going over the thought in your head. The image of brilliant silver, the pure almost incandescent white that you have stubbornly refused to, or more accurately cannot let go of.

Something is there, you just have to find what it is.

Growling in frustration you finish off the keg, walk over to the pile and put with the rest, forming an orderly little stack off in the corner of your workshop for your apprentice's to pick up later. You stare at the assortment of kegs, mind still whirling with the image of that moment. What did you know? Again you force yourself to repeat everything relevant to your problem over again from the beginning.

- Gromril was the strongest metal the dwarfs have ever found, putting everything else your people have found to shame.
- It is also the rarest, likely coming from the void of space in the form of cataclysmic meteor strikes.
- It takes to Runes like dwarfs to beer. Both substances simply resonate with the other on a level beyond most everything else.
- Gromril is the only surface Armour Runes would deign adhere themselves to.
- The Purest specimens of the metal were required for the Master Rune that bore its name.

All of these points clearly connected, but you just can't see how.

Perhaps it is the drink, perhaps the exhaustion, but your mind ends up wandering to what you know of Runes somehow.

The gift of Thungni, Runes harness magic and make order from it. You cannot inscribe more than three runes on an item, only a single Master Rune can be inscribed on an individual item…

…those kegs were rather nicely stacked if you do say so yourself.

You shake your head, clearing those intrusive thoughts and force yourself to repeat the information in your mind.

Runes harness wild magic, and through processes that your people still weren't firm about, made order from it. Taking the very substance of randomness and creating consistency and measurability. The Anathema to the Realm of Chaos…

...wait.

Perhaps the link is there, deep in the fundamentals of both these things. Unbidden the Master Rune of Gromril rises to the forefront of your mind, the light searing in your mind almost translating to your physical vision.

If the connection can be found...it will likely be in that Rune, not in its physical presence but its making. The thought is so compelling you end up on the floor rather than waste time getting to your desk. Taking a pose of deep contemplation, you recall the chant of the Master Rune of Gromril, the words coming to you like second nature.

Fifteen strikes with the chisel on the Rune Metal, ordered in perfect alignment…

No, that wasn't it. You continue the chant in your mind, discarding references to Garim the Ancestor, the instructions for precise striking, and dig instead into what you thought was simply thematic filler.

...let it be ordered thus and carry the strength of the Star Iron…

There, there! There is something there, you can feel it in your oldest whiskers but what is it? You aren't there, but you're closer. Closer, you can feel it, you go over more of the chant methodically.

...as Thungni brought order to madness let this Gromril bring order to the metal, let order return to itself…

Wait.

As Thungni brought order to madness...let this Gromril bring order…

Order.

Order.

ORDER.

The mental image of the Master Rune of Gromril, still sitting in the corner of your mind, blazes with blinding light.​

The line referred to Thungni's discovery of the Glittering Realm, the Ankor Bryn, and his discovery of the Runes. Order from chaos, Runes were order imposed on something without it, for Gromril to be compared to that would mean Gromril was also linked to the concept of order?

You needed to test, to go over your mental library and find some truth to it.

…​

Over the rest of the decade, in between bouts of training your apprentices and waiting for the damn smelter to finish for you to do your work, you wrote.

On paper, because once you were certain you'd commit it to memory, then maybe inscribe the final draft onto wafer-thin sheets of Gromril and bind that into a Tome you'd seal in a place no one would ever know of before burning the originals in a fire. Runesmith secrecy and all that. But back to your findings, and oh the giddy feeling in your gut at the thought.

Hundreds of runes are gone over with your new insight in mind; looking, searching for the barest discrepancy. Each rune that uses Gromril in its construction reveals a faint but noticeable pattern.

Ordering, conciseness, stability.

It becomes even more apparent when looking at permutations of existing runes that use Gromril when the original did not. The Rune of Burning, derived from the Rune of Fire, used flakes of Gromril. The startling difference that allowed it to set its ammunition ablaze after it had been launched from its, primarily wooden, firing mechanism.

But the strongest point of evidence in your favour was going over the Rune of Daemon Slaying. Its creation required drops of molten Gromril be poured into the grooves, and theories abound about how this rune so easily damaged daemonkind. Something in the Rune proved anathema to the daemon's essence making them easier to banish back into the Realms of Chaos, or so it was claimed.

Maybe this was why? Gromril's inherent order forcing the chaos that was a daemon out of the natural world?

How many other runesmiths learned of this inherent connection? Thungni for certain, the Burudin likely knew, as would the Brotherhood of Dron, mayhaps a few of the older masters too. Well, it's not like you're in any position to ask them for help, let alone sure they'd even give it to you, to be frank.

It seems so obvious in hindsight. But you feel as if you've only discovered a piece to a far larger puzzle.

…​

Gain:
- The Rune Metal Chain has begun! Next piece of the chain unlocked.
- Narrative insight, mechanical insight into many things. Progress to ??? (2-1) =1 and ??? (3-1) =2
- Progress on both the workshop and the smelter.

AN: not really a lot of concrete gains here, felt sorta weird tbh. Uh, anyway C&C and thank you for reading :^)

 

[soulcake]

You watch bemusedly from the warmth of your coat as your apprentices shiver, their attempts at making a Rune of Warmth clearly not able to handle the cold.

Then again you've got them in just a pair of trousers and a shirt with their runes engraved on it.

What better way to get them motivated than knowing their work is the only thing keeping them warm, and with the Lorekeepers all in agreement about this cold snap not letting up any time soon you had plenty of time to get a barely acceptable rune out of them. While that meant a good many caravans had to transition to their secondary timetable for you it meant your apprentices could be brought out here every three days to see if they've gotten a better rune going!

"Alright beardlings, what have we learned, where do you think you did a shoddy job? I counted at least 15 for each of you, but let's see if you can even get one!" you finally say once half an hour has passed.

Of course you kept an expression stonier than a mountainside the whole time, as was proper, but to your quiet joy, Dolgi managed to label ten of his mistakes and Fjolla got all fifteen.

That you counted against them.

There were a good 40 more undocumented errors you decided to leave for another day, after all. No good if you didn't pace them properly, they wouldn't digest the failure as well and improve near as much as if you made them think they were getting close.

…
​

You pass by the growing superstructure of the Gromril smelter, the building was at a stage where you could finally get some proper work done. Getting the Runes necessary for Pure Gromril on this scale would be a novel task at the very least.

You were simply itching at the chance to get your hammer and chisel at that smelter.

The dwarfs around you were equally excited, if for admittedly different reasons than you. These past years have turned a project of disparate clans doing their best to up the other into one that only further tightened the bonds made during the Battle at the Dragon's Maw.

Indeed the sight of inter-clan cooperation is evident everywhere. Brewing and Baking clans working together to hand off hearty food to the work crews of not only their family but any they could find. Jeweler Clans cooperating with each other, dividing the work of giving this place a proper dwarfen level of style easily and happily. Smithing clans are already beginning to divy up the times for forging, doing their best to ensure every clan gets the time on the smelter that it deserves.

While a cynical part of you will not that this was simply the consequence of the Dwarfen tendency to coordinate and get things squared away properly and fairly rearing its head, you cannot deny that there is an air of joviality and comradeship beyond the norm. The work is honest, the rivalry friendly, the atmosphere light and busy.

This is perhaps one of the times you've seen your people at their best.

While you doubted the lines of clan would ever truly disappear, nor can you imagine such a world to be frank, at least in this one project dwarfs see themselves as more than just Clan Ironarm, Clan Dromminling, Grimseal or Grimlisson, but as Dwarfs of Kraka Drakk, the Dragon Hold.

​

Which in its own way, was more of a milestone than any grand building or work of art. It does your heart good to see, dwarfs ought not to fight each other, not when so much of the world wanted you all dead already.

But enough sentimentality, you're in the hold here for another reason, and though you wish to stay a bit longer, you head off into the mail halls proper to meet with the eldest members of the community.

…​

The Council Chamber is a spacious room built above the hall that would eventually become the place a King would hold court and rule the hold. As it is, both rooms are rather bereft of the usual decorations the royal clan would put, the only exception being the Skull of the Elder Wyrm, and the(a set) Horns of the Greedy Ones.

Must've broken those off during the battle at some point. While the bastard definitely had horns when you pushed him off the cliff, but then again he was growing limbs in seconds so another set of horns wasn't too outrageous.

But that was neither here nor there, you were here with the elders to discuss a point of importance. That, of course, is the task of finding a Royal Clan to rule the hold once it was properly set up. While you were still a good few decades off from an actual vote, it always paid to start your work early and get ahead.

With you in the council chamber are the oldest dwarfs in the hold. The familiar face of Elder Moira sits to your left, followed by the guildmaster of the Baker's guild of all things, Elder Lofey Oriksson. From the corner, you spotted an Elder Ranger, Brokk True-eyes, nod at you before going back to staring blankly at the assembled group of curmudgeonly dwarfs.

Orri Oakarms, guildmaster of the Carpenter's guild. Their work can be found in many places, the finely made furniture they produce from imported Wutroth being a hot commodity.

Siggrun Frothbraids, a master brewer of Clan Bryggeroot, the ones who supplied every tavern in the hold and ran their own smack dab in the Market District.

Gormak Ironjaw, a truly ancient master smith who moved here from Azul citing his preference for colder climes, and definitely not because his only living descendant and his family moved here. He was rather neutral to the discovery of Gromril, which for a dwarf his age was positively ecstatic.

These and many more, your eyes noting that no dwarf here was less than 600 years old, with the oldest, Master Gormak, being well into his first millennia.

"Rhunrikki, right on time. Cutting it a bit close aren't you beardling?" Elder Moira tuts at you.

You can only apologize and sit down.

"Well then, no need for formalities, I'm sure all of us would like to go back to our jobs as soon as possible, but for the sake of the hold, I'm sure we can all manage this. Leave the ruling to a King so we don't get bothered by so many beardlings is a good trade for our time I'd say," Elder Moira says placatingly

The 'Bah' that many of the ancient dwarfs bark are tinted by grudging agreement.

Time to get to it then.

…​

When you leave the chamber the time is a bit past noon, which considering you started at dawn, said much.

The elders had hemmed, hawed and argued with the stubbornness that only the most ancient dwarfs could possess. But eventually, mostly through Elder Moira's calm and peaceful(relative) diplomacy, you'd all gotten a shortlist of possibilities down that you could tolerate.

This was a rough draft, of course, only 200 pages worth of notes really. A number which as any dwarf will tell you, isn't a lot for something this important, but you had decades yet. In short, the discussion boiled down to deciding whether you'd raise a clan in the hold with the prerequisite condition of having Noble Blood to the royal clan or you'd invite a dwarf of good standing and compatible personality from the major holds in the south to become the Royal clan of the hold.

Now using two hundred pages to basically say, "raise someone here or bring in someone" would seem wasteful to a fool.

But to a dwarf, it was simply the necessary level of thoroughness such an important decision required. After all, once a Royal Clan was chosen, they would never leave barring a true tragedy that wiped out the line or act that dishonoured them so thoroughly as to be forced into exile. Thankfully, these all being dwarfs well past a millennium of age, the likelihood of the former far overshadowed the latter.

An actual, formal, vote would happen once the hold was deemed complete, but all of you agreed that wouldn't be for decades at the fastest that was acceptable.

Thankfully these meetings were only per decade, Elder Moira only being able to get these cantankerous living ancestors to stop what they were doing with a large amount of drink and by prodding their sense of duty in such a way that they believed they came to that decision themselves.

That woman was terrifyingly effective.

…​

It was on your way back from the meeting that you decided to take a look at the Gromril Mine once again, hoping for some sort of inspiration to take you.

Your hopes weren't high of course, it felt like a once in a lifetime moment that you'd never replicate again. Still, no harm in trying in this case.

It is only when you pass a gaggle of Elderly miners on their lunch break that it happens.

"Never seen stuff this pure before. I'd bet my nice pair of pants that we'll get a maybe a cupful of slag per ingot." one says to his compatriots.

"Hmmph, fine. I'll pay for your drinks for the next two weeks if the ingots only produce a half-a-cupful of slag. You gotta be blind to think it's that impure," the other rounds back.

"Garag, you want in on this? Two weeks' worth of drink and Krimmi's pants on the table," a third miner says.

"No, because you're all daft. I'm telling you this stuff's so pure it'll get maybe a flake of slag per ingot," Garag says with a nod full of conviction.

At his declaration, the rest of the miners break out into good-natured grumbling and declarations of madness.

You, however, have latched on to something.

Purity.

The Master Rune of Gromril demands Pure Gromril, why? Because impure Gromril obviously wasn't as strong as Pure Gromril, but to a runesmith? Pure Gromril, if your theory was correct, would conduct the concept of Order to such a degree that it could enhance the already incredible protective qualities of Gromril beyond what was natural. Which led to another thought.

Warpstone.

Warpstone, that cursed thing, was almost always found near and around Gromril finds. The certainty of which grew with the relative youth of a strike. The oldest and deepest seams had little to none, the youngest were hotbeds of corrosion that needed special gear to clear away before the ore could be got to.

But why?

Why were these two almost paradoxically opposed things found together?

The issue of purity you realize may hold the key.

You run to your workshop, ignoring the surprised yelps of beardlings and grunts of curious Longbeards. You had a lead!

Gain:
- +3 Progress to The Rune Metal Pt2. due to an RER roll.

...​

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions and 1 apprentice action this turn:
General:
[ ] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: You've a workshop and a home fit for a Runelord, but in your mind's eye you see yet more things to do. Any research regarding the Master Runes will require a level of protection that your current facility simply doesn't have. The cost is irrelevant, it is the materials you need that are the true bottleneck. You've got the Gromril and Dragon Blood necessary for the Rune you need now. [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions, -1 vial of Dragon's Blood-]
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 8 turns.

Requests: Denote which simple request will receive the Apprentice Action in your plan.
[ ] [Simple] Pure Gromril: Somehow you finagled the clans of the hold to agree to the idea of a communal smelter capable of making Pure Gromril. You've got a decent portion of the work down already, and the clans are pitching in and the structure is beginning to take shape. It is a work of art and craftsmanship as the workers have especially good reason to see a job well done; the smelter will be an engine of great wealth for the hold and clans that use it, and of course to show rivals how their clan is better at this task or other. [Cost: (6-3) =3 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Runic Warmachines: The Engineer's guild has come to you with a request to improve the hold's war machines with the power of Runes. Their losses at the Battle at the Dragon's Maw is a stinging blow that shames them. Not that any dwarf blames the engineers or claims they didn't do their part, not much can be done when a bunch of daemons spawn on top of your position and destroy your artillery after all, but the event has lit a fire under their collective arses. The previous decade was spent cranking out bolt and grudge throwers by the dozen and what better way to make even deadlier machines than with runes? Well, it's sound logic, runes always make things better. [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Defence. In. Depth Pt1: It has finally begun, a concession for getting you involved in this whole business with choosing the hold's new Royal Clan, the hold will implement a strategy of Defence. In. Depth. When planning its permanent defences, which if you were honest wasn't that big a loss for the Hold. With that in mind, such a wonderful piece of work will require a suitably magnificent set of Runes. While someone could never truly have enough defences, building what would eventually be a good seven layers of overlapping kill zones, guard towers and artillery is as good a start as any! [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other Will proc.
[ ] [Difficult] Trollslayer Pt. 1: Thane Ironarm has come to you with a simple request. An axe worthy of commemorating the momentous victory at the Dragon's Maw. He trusts you to make an axe worthy of the prospective title Trollslayer, and is willing to wait for the product for however long it takes. After all, how can he not have faith in you after everything that's happened? First, you have to figure out what runes you want on this damn thing. [Cost: 1 action] If a rune you want requires special ingredients that you don't have access to I will alert you. If I am given the choice you won't have to worry about that. A good rule of thumb on if it will likely need ingredients is if it's a Master Rune or it's a rune you've developed and know it will need ingredients you don't have.
- [ ] Choose: choose three runes you want on the weapon.
- [ ] Theme: write in a theme for the weapon. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)
- [ ] GM: Leave it to the GM. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Greedy One's Heart: This thing has been transferred to a warded container because you don't really trust anything that came from that thing. You're all but certain you could make a truly potent Rune of Healing or Fortitude with this thing, but perhaps there are other uses for it you could come up with that a battery of tests could reveal.[Cost: 4 actions.] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2) =6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal Pt. 2: You've found a connection between Runes and Gromril, but it feels like just the beginning of something greater. You've found that in a moment of clarity, that Pure Gromril is especially important for the Master Rune of Gromril because of that inherent purity. [Cost: (6-3) =3 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[-] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

Order: As well as the normal system, I'm willing to experiment with this. You can order 1 Rune's worth of an item a turn but can have as many orders going as you want. I'll ask that you only order if you think you'll use that material for a Rune in the near future and not horde a bunch of materials.

[ ]Write-in:

Remember to vote by plan. There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.

AN: C&C always, and thank you for reading :^)

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan Betting on Synergy
-[X] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions, -1 vial of Dragon's Blood-]
—[X] 1 action
-[X] [Simple] Pure Gromril:[Cost: (6-3) =3 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
--[X] 2 Actions
-[X] [Simple] Defence. In. Depth Pt1: [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other Will proc.
--[X] 1 Apprentice Action
-[X] The Rune Metal Pt. 2: [Cost: (6-3) =3 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
--[X] 1 Action
-[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 8 turns.
-[X] Order: Magma Dragon's Blood

Click to shrink...

Jorri finally leaves the hold a month later, having traded his caravan's cargo of southern goods for gold, and comparatively less Gromril on account of the hold hoarding the stuff for the impending completion of the smelter. Thankfully for your brother, the gold and jewels that your hold was originally founded for had begun to be worked in exportable quantities, giving him an ample supply of the raw material and the finished goods the gold and jewel smiths had been making to bring south as consolation.

You meanwhile, while sad to see your brother go, are happy to finally have your Dragon's Blood and get to using it right away.

No need to rush if you were brutally honest with yourself, you could tell these Runes of Preservation were potent, the stuff inside wouldn't suffer any degradation for a good few centuries at the least.

You could do better obviously, but that was neither here nor there.

But the sight of the unfinished work, in your personal space? It rankled at you something fierce. A half-complete toy on the workbench in the corner got you itching to finish it when you got the chance, the struggle of being in the same space as that wonderful, but Rune Free, room almost made you scream.

Stages of work? Fine.

Adding onto or revising older projects that were designed to be built up over time? Acceptable, good even, it showed a level of long term thinking any dwarf could respect.

Getting something done in one go? You weren't a fan, but there were many dwarfs who thought that way and you can admit you could see the appeal.

But this? BAH! BAH, you say!

You release years worth of tension into the act of, properly, removing the keg's lid, ignoring the thump of reinforced steel crumpling against the Runed stone of your workspace.

Immediately you are hit with the pungent odour of Drakk. A mix of flame, flesh, and wealth that assaulted your nostrils like an angry troll.

This was some fresh blood. You remember Jorri saying they harvested it only minutes after the beast had died, but by Grungni's beard, this stuff was strong.

Made you wonder if it'd work in a brew, but despite the curiosity you persevere and move on with the work you planned on instead of jumping to some new side project.

After telling your apprentices to not bother you and get on with their assigned duties you walk back into your workshop and begin working.

…​

It is the labour of months, you'd prepared adequately by storing enough food to last you as you worked from within the seclusion of your workshop, saving time by not having to leave the space.

Inscribing some Runes were simple, the work of hours mayhaps even minutes if the Smith were skilled enough and the Rune simple in its formation.

Then there were others.

Others that were the work of far longer timescales. Days, weeks, months, the latter especially once you got to work on Master Runes, which was in fact what you were doing. Hell, there was talk that some of the Burudin knew of Runes so powerful and intricate they took over a year to complete, things of such power and skill that they could make even an Elder shed a tear at the sight of them.

You shuddered.

But sadly you were not working on something so terrible and awe-inspiring, yet, your work was comparatively more simple. Well as simple as a Rune can be.

It is a painstaking effort that forces even you to speak this Rune's chant to aid you, only having ever done this twice before.

It was one of the earliest universal Runic combinations that every Runesmith who held the rank of Master or higher was taught, if only because it was needed to experiment on the Master Runes safely.

In function it was the basis for your talisman, turning magical energy into a shield that in this case defended the room it was inscribed on.

In reality these were the originally discovered forms of the Rune of Spelleating, Spellbreaking and Warding found by Thungni. A work so potent that it put the portable array you were taught and inscribed on your amulet to shame. Within a space of a certain size, this Rune array would consume the energy of a Master Rune's magical feedback and turn it into a self-sustaining shield that was meant to contain the explosion itself by eating the magic and converting it.

It was said Thungni's work on these Runes eventually led him to discover the principles behind the Rune of Daemonslaying and make the portable versions you used on your amulet.

The catch for that potency?

It worked best in a stationary position, something about its construction demanding it not be moved much to many Runesmiths, Thungni included, dismay. It was considered a miracle that Thungni managed to remove that restriction, though at the cost of much of its prodigious potency.

You remember spending a good half a century giving a shot at it before admitting defeat.

It is a reminder of the awesome might of your work and sheer breadth of knowledge even you, a Runelord, simply do not possess.

It is humbling.

That feeling of quiet reverence permeates your mood as you spend the months diligently chanting and chiseling the final array into existence. The keg that held the dragon's blood is stored away, empty, for the Rune of Spelleating seemingly drank the whole of the barrel as you continued to pour and pour.

Finally, you finish after three months of intense labour. As you wipe your brow, the sight of the Rune's dull light, ever ready to save you from your own stupidity, leaves you feeling safer already.

…​

Only days after, finally recuperated from your exhaustive ritual, you are informed that the smelter is finally ready to receive the necessary runes on a crisp new year's morning.

A good bit of fortune.

It takes you only a few short hours to have the reagents you'd ordered readied by your apprentices and loaded onto the cart prepared for the occasion.

The three of you set out immediately, you at the head while your apprentices led the six ornery goats that pulled the cart by their collars. Yet another training exercise you borrowed from Master Yorri.

As your cart moves along the paved path between your Workshop and the Hold you eventually see the heartening sight of one of the original curtain walls in the middle of being torn down, its materials destined for use in the newer, defensive array you played no small part in shaping. The sight of dwarf work crews carefully lifting the massive granite blocks and uprooting the incredibly thick oak timbers that made up this ultimately temporary piece of architecture doing your heart good.

Its replacement was honestly quite the piece of work as you were well aware, being one of the main minds behind it.

The first part consisted of seven layers of walls, guard towers and artillery placements. Each layer growing larger and more imposing as they came closer and closer to the gates of the hold itself.

While no stone was yet laid down, you saw other work crews cutting down the outlying forest on your way to the hold, stopping, for now, just half a kilometre from the farthest of the planned layers. This on account of the carpenters guild simply not having the capacity to process the wood gathered from clearing several square kilometres of dense woodland in front of the hold that the final plan called for.

A good pace had to be set you suppose.

An idea crosses your mind as you walk towards the Foundry District, apprentices in tow. You were already planning to have them try and likely fail to order the ingredients they thought you'd use, but maybe you'd send them out on a little field trip to see where they thought the best location for the Runes would be on the walls as well.

You haven't had the chance to laugh at such horrible opinions in months after all, on account of that whole business ensuring you didn't die from a master rune exploding in your face, or worse.

Burning off your beard.

You shudder in the way only a dwarf whose hair was in danger could.

…​

The sight of the almost completed smelter complex is a dazzling one. A massive complex of pipes and metal inscribed in beautiful tableaus of dwarf smiths creating ore, the earliest tales of Grungni and Smednir featuring prominently on its walls. The First Pickaxe, the First Ore Smelter, the Tale of Burdin Bungleweave and the First Ingot and many more classic dwarf sagas illustrated with helpful subtitles for all to see.

A monument to your history and traditions.

Inside is no less beautiful if more utilitarian. The knot artwork that was favoured by many in the hold present in the flooring and walls, the pillars are inscribed with the names of the dwarfs who helped build this great structure from eldest longbeard to even the most foolish apprentices. Lastly there, standing proudly in the center of the structure's main hall, the master schedule where a Dwarf would be tasked with the unenviable duty of managing the allotted times of cantankerous master smiths chomping at the bit to smelt Pure Gromril.

You'd best get started, all but certain that even the Smiths' prodigious patiences were near the breaking point.

Gromril had that effect on people.

Over the next two years, you spend weeks at a time here, inscribing individual Smelters with the appropriate Runes, testing the Gromril, then leaving to pick up more reagents from your suppliers. The hold's denizens become so impatient, and efficient, that they simply deliver the reagents to you while you work in the smelter, along with ample supplies of good beer and fresh stonebread. While they couldn't enter the building properly so as to respect the secrecy of your work, that didn't mean you couldn't send out your beardlings to pick it up and bring the supplies inside. Indeed, those last few months end up with the three of you practically living inside the smelter as you enter the steady rhythm of inscribing and testing the smelters while your beardlings watch you with extreme focus. The three of you eating meals of hearty ale and stonebread in between each smelter, practically scarfing down the food to get back to work. While your apprentices hustled about, prepping the next smelters for you as much as they are able to further minimize time wasted. Then, almost as if it were a dream, you finish the final smelter, your apprentices standing and staring, their forms haggard and dirty, but their spirits raised.

You allow them a quiet cheer while you dust yourself off. As you do final checks on the last smelter, your apprentices bustle about and clean up after yourselves. After all, it wouldn't do being a messy worker now could it? When the floors are spotless, and the smelters running smoothly; then, and only then, do you pronounce the work complete for all to hear.

When at last the three of you leave the building you are met by a thunderous cheer.

Outside, somehow beyond your notice, an outright festival has been set up, with stands, games and general merriment filling the air.

"Master," Dolgi speaks up, confusion evident, "when did they set this up?"

You don't rightly know, but like hell you were going to let the Beardlings know that you didn't know.

"Get better hearing beardling, I heard this entire festival get set up the whole time how did you not? I kept sending the two of you out so often that I can't believe you didn't see it. If you still can't figure it out you'd best ask Fjolla. Now come along both of you, there's a festival to enjoy! Can't leave all this stonebread for just the beardlings to eat." you say, moving past him as you rub your hands together.

A young dwarf plaitling comes over to you, a tray of foaming mugs in both hands.

"Rhunrikki," she says, doing her best to curtsy.

Sniffing gruffly at her you gingerly take four mugs off the plate and begin drinking, walking deeper into the rowdy crowd of joyous dwarfs and towards the heavenly, yet different, scent of fresh stonebread.

Oh? Is that honey you smell? Well, it's certainly unconventional but you suppose you'd give whoever baked it some good solid advice about how harebrained their idea was.

Behind you, your apprentices are muttering to each other, neither still certain as to when this all got set up.

…​

"Do we follow him?" Dolgi whispers, eyeing the food stands.

"I think so?" Fjolla mutters back, looking around in bewilderment before she pales and curses under her breath.

"What's wrong? Is i-whoa!" the dwarf says suddenly as his fellow apprentice grabs him by the arm, running in the direction they last saw their master.

"I saw that idiot Goren Dromminling coming over with two mugs of ale and a blush on his cheeks. I'm not risking it, now have you seen Master Snorri? How did we lose him!?," she answers back hotly, pausing to look around.

"I can't see anything through this crowd!" Dolgi shouts back, eyes desperately searching for Master Snorri's familiar silhouette.

"The stonebread!" Fjolla says suddenly, fist in her palm, "Let's check the Stonebread stalls, its as good a place as a-"

"-Fjolla! Fjolla Stokkisdottir!" a different young dwarf says, mugs of ale in hand, "it's me! Gorrik Drogginsson of Clan Grimseal! Would you like a mu-"

"-Grungni damn it all, RUN Ruby-head! I want no part in this!" she says running off, leaving her fellow apprentice and would-be suitor behind.

"Fjolla wait!" Dolgi says, following shortly after.

…​

It is only days later that the Pure Gromril begins to flow in small, but noticeable quantities. Already finding its way into the hands of eager craftsmen and bright-eyed merchants. As for you, the Smelter provides a small but steady bounty of some of the purest Gromril possible, Gromril fit for use in making the Master Rune that it shares its name with.

The moment should be magnificent, and in some ways it is.

But looking at the shimmering silver bar before you, your mind turns towards an even brighter sheen of silver, and flashes of bright white light that make the bar of Pure Gromril in your hand seem duller than lead.

...​

The end of the decade is spent banging your head against the puzzle of Gromril while you had your apprentice's hanging about the slowly rising walls of Kraka Drakk's defences. Your work with the Pure Gromril smelter gave you time to solidify your thoughts and also make you question things.

Gromril, like any ore, had to be smelted, refined and purified to be of any use for your people. While it took far greater temperatures to melt and far more force to forge the stuff compared to most things it was otherwise workable like any metal.

Purified Gromril then, was simply that metal refined to a degree that even Dwarfs found impressive. The silver sheen of the ingots are a good deal brighter than the regular bars.

But not bright enough.

And that was the sticking point, what made even Pure Gromril's sheen seem dull compared to what you saw that day? The metal didn't even the tiniest speck of rock in its structure, the form perfect like, like...

...you lost it, whatever insight was about to come simply refused to.

Bah.

Looking for something to take your mind off the roadblock you've hit, you move over to your desk, a pile of letters waiting for you. Several are letters of thanks, others are requests better off being sent to younger runesmiths but one does catch your eye. Jorri's familiar and unique stationary sticking out like a particularly sore thumb. Picking up your brother's letter, received only weeks after you asked him to keep an eye out for some Magma Dragon's blood, you begin to read. What could prompt a reply in such short notice?

Snorri,

Word down south is that a Magma Dragon attacked the mines of Ungor a decade ago. Fresh enough trail that I got a few potential sellers, shouldn't take too long to procure. Lucky that you asked now instead of later, this stuff's a hot commodity after all.

HA!

Anyway, your Gromril was magnificent, perfect, almost as beautiful as my sweet Magna! speaking of my darling wife, I can tell she's going to love it when she gets it on our anniversary. She's found every last one of my surprise gifts before I know, but this time is different Snorri. I can feel it in my beard!

Jorri.

Then, written in far neater script below your brother's scrawl is a note from Magna.

Snorri,

I think you'll be mightily pleased to know I hit Jorri upside the head for you, thank you very much for the Gromril. Also, I'm pregnant, I'll name them after you. Don't tell Jorri you know how he gets.

Regards,
Magna

You fold up the letter, the frown on your face having turned into a small smile especially after reading that part.

Well, at least some things were going well.

…​

Gain:
- The Hold of Kraka Drakk can now produce Pure Gromril natively. The efforts of the entire community to bring greater prosperity for all is a thing many a dwarf can appreciate.
- Work has begun on the permanent outer defences of Kraka Drakk. There are already talks in the hold of finding ways to incorporate their new Pure Gromril into the growing defences of the hold.
- Due to good rolls, Magma Dragon's Blood will arrive in 2 turns.
- Snorri's Workshop is now able to safely handle the destructive power of a Master Rune experiment gone wrong!

AN: Sorry for the delay on this one, got distracted by my cats. Anyway, thanks for reading and don't forget to C&C :^)

 

[soulcake]

You walk out of the workshop, whistling a jaunty tune, the quiet steps of your apprentices behind you.

Today is a good day.

The news of your hold's new source of Pure Gromril spreads through the north like a raging wildfire, orders and dwarfs flocking to get at this most precious resource.

The news also brings a trickle of enterprising young Runesmiths, eager for the chance to work the wonder metal. Your workshop has to host many of them who come to offer respect as they move in.

"Hurry up now beardlings!" You shout to the two dwarfs behind you, voice not at all belaying the joy you feel.

Couldn't do anything more than grudging almost disappointment and that was only when they blew past your expectations of their work. Which, for most apprentices never happened, but your beardlings were a cut above the rest. Thanks in no small part to your superlative efforts as a teacher.

"Yes Master!" Both Fjolla and Dolgi say beneath the ninety kilos of metal they were carrying while wearing the same movement-reducing padded leather suit.

Why only half a century ago they were struggling with a tenth of that weight, now here they were handling a good 140 kilos total with as much grace as you could expect from an apprentice.

Grungni you were such a good teacher.

…​

"Ah! Rhunrikki, good morning to you," an elderly Longbeard from Clan Grimseal greets you as he turns from his work on the wall to wave at you.

"Any news?" you shout back at him, your voice carrying clearly despite the good twenty meters of height between you.

"Rumour has it Lord Grimnir got it into the heads of our kin down south to put some defences down in the Ungdrin," he continues conversationally before turning to his apprentice, "Yarri! WHAT WAS THAT LAD, ARE YOU CHISELLING A LATRINE OR THE WALL THAT'LL DEFEND YOUR PEOPLE?! THINK YOU CAN SLACK OFF JUST BECAUSE I'M TALKING TO THE RUNELORD? DAMN NEAR A CENTURY, OLD CAN'T EVEN DO THIS RIGHT? Not much else to speak of really Rhunrikki," he finishes.

Ah. You heard about that. It was said that not three years ago that a great Elder Magma Wyrm, no relation to the one Jorri spoke about, had broken into the Ungdrin Ankor. Sadly for the Wyrm in question, it broke into the Underway in the same spot Grimnir was leading his throng down south from a hard season of campaigning.

The Ancestor, grumpy and tired, grew so wroth that he punched the beast with his fist; crumpling bone and scale in a shower of blood with a single strike. Following up by beheading the beast then kicking the corpse into the magma below.

When he reached Karaz A Karak his bellowing grumbling was enough to shake the hold itself, so mighty was his tirade that many a dwarf hold has begun to set up defensive works in the Ungdrin, out of respect and a bit of fear at what Grimnir may grumble if he sees shoddy work.

Made a good lick of sense to you, nowhere outside the holds was safe, even the Ungdrin. Complacency was what got you killed out here.

Grimnir followed up his tirade with something of even greater value, sitting down at the barracks he taught many of Karaz A Karak's warriors the further insight into the art of defending from below, the tactics of tunnel fighting and using the cramped terrain to their advantage. His valued teachings may have been in the form of a truly gruelling monologue about their inadequacy but it was a gift from the Ancestor nonetheless. So it was that many dwarfs have taken his teachings to heart and spread it far and wide.

You nod back at him, "Thank you anyway! And before I forget, let the Thane know I have a letter for him from Stokki Shale-eyes, Thane of Clan Hrokrisson down south!"

A knowing glint enters the Longbeard's eyes as he glances at your now pale apprentice.

"Oh? Is it about that now? A bit early don't you think?" he says seriously, acting as well as any Skald.

"Old enough he reckons," you reply, eyes glinting in amusement from where your apprentices can't see.

"I'll be sure to let him know Elder, now if you'll excuse me I have an apprentice whose neck I have to wring for STILL COCKING UP HIS CHISELWORK. DAMN IT YARRI!" the elder says, storming off towards his charge.

You cackle internally at Fjolla muttering in the background, Dolgi trying to calm her down.

While you certainly didn't lie about there being a letter, as lying was something no dwarf in their right mind would commit. You did omit the fact that the letter was about clan Grimseal hewing out the main hall for younger, entrepreneurial, members of Fjolla's clan who were moving up here in a few years' time.

And if a beardling got it into their heads that it was about something as silly as a betrothal well, not on your head now was it?

Not even a century old and she thought it was all about her, really the arrogance of youth.

Bah, you suppose you'll tell her when you enter the hold proper, couldn't do to have her work suffer for the sake of a little laugh.

Maybe talk with a Longbeard there and be a bit more specific? You'll figure it out. In the meantime, you think you see the father of that girl Dolgi's sweet on in the distance, his daughter trailing behind him.

While you show no outward sign of anything amiss you are chortling mightily in your mind.

Another great thing apprentices were good for, the foolishness of young romance was always a source of good entertainment for their Elders.

…​

The mood is tense in the council room, you finally arrive to see Brokk True-eyes accompanied by several of his rangers, among the usual group of grumbling elders.

"Rhunrikki," Elder Brokk says, nodding at you with a frown on his face, "the beardlings found something of note, seemed right to let you know considering what it may be. Beardlings!"

Two dwarfs come forward, one carrying a black pelt and the other a familiar horned skull.

They carefully lay out both pieces for the assembled elders to glare at.

"No faffing about Brokk, where'd your lot find this?" Master Gormak snarls out, hefting his axe.

"Since the battle at the Dragon's Maw, the surrounding wilderness has been cleared of most things that can threaten any dwarfs, it only takes a few of us to keep it that way too. So I sent the beardlings out to scout out the terrain further afield, help out the rangers of the other holds that sort of thing. South and east mostly but I had a few boys helping the rangers near that fresh settlement to the west. Long story short, while we've cleared out our immediate area, there's a bunch of monster attacks coming in from the north near the sea of Ice. And sightings of odd black trolls leading groups of their ilk to assault dwarf caravans. Thought it was beardlings spinning wool til a group came back with half their number wounded carting a pile of troll pelts, that included."

You barely pay the tale attention, just enough to memorize it really, instead walking over and lifting the skull to get a better look.

Couldn't even die properly now, could it?

"The bloody thing Bred?" Gormak snarls.

"Maybe, maybe not. These things have been popping up for some reason, but they're assaulting dwarf caravans and oddly enough leaving most of the food to their hordes. These things are stealing goods that no normal troll cares about. Armour, gold, weapons, most anything as well as food and stuffing them in a sack then hiding them in their hovels. We returned the goods this one had stolen as best as we could, didn't leave many dwarfs to claim them I'm afraid. I've already sent runners to the rest of the holds, tactics for dealing with them and the like. Thought to see if the Rhunrikki may have known something he could share,"

You hum, still glaring at the smaller, but familiarly shaped skull.

"Any sightings in the area?" Moira asks.

"No. Like I said, battle depopulated the area of trolls, and they depopulated most of the other dangerous things to feed themselves. Have a group of beardlings keeping it that way too. But the other settlements and holds aren't as lucky," Brokk says grimly.

You sigh through your teeth before speaking up.

"Damn thing was transforming to the end, even when it was turning into a bloated mess of untamed magic and flesh. My gut tells me I was a hair's breadth away from facing an actual daemon before it botched it up at the last second. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I wasn't, and maybe I was neither. Beardling, when you hacked this beastie up, what was the blood like?"

"Blood felt cool, like holding ice, oddest thing considering it was alive a few seconds earlier," the elder of the two rangers who brought the pelt comments.

"Bah," you say, putting down the skull before turning to Brokk, "Elder, I humbly ask that you inform as many rangers and holds as possible this kind of troll may be resistant to the usual method of cauterization. If these things are aping their progenitor they may have a higher resistance or outright immunity to flames, maybe some minor magic, as well as a higher propensity for extra limbs. I can't be exact given the limited number of samples, but if these things are even a smidge as strong as the one I killed…"

"I'll let the beardlings know to spread your information and to bring back as many bodies as they can," he says, nodding fiercely.

"Goes without saying, but since these creatures can potentially use magic I'd like for your charges to be more careful than they usually are, don't want an influx of injured without good reason, and even when there is a good reason I'm not too pleased regardless" Elder Moira says, looking down at the pelt in mild distaste.

"Aye, I'll tell em to keep wary until we have a good idea about how they operate, things that can cast spells are always a gamble." the Elder Ranger nods in agreement.

"Bah," you mutter quietly.

The assembled elders all grunt and nod in agreement.

Damn trolls.

…​

The rest of the meeting is nothing of note, and you leave the oppressive atmosphere and enter a far happier hold.

Walking through the main hold you see beardlings at play and dwarfs working hard, a quiet air of joyous contentment that permeates everywhere.

They aren't aware yet, better for your elderly and cynical bones to bear the horrible truth than risk breaking these beardlings before they're ready.

They'll learn eventually, but not a second too early if you can help it.

And today had been a nice one too.

…​

- Due to an RER crit, Grimnir has pushed the art of tunnel fighting and underground defence forward centuries ahead of its time. The sight of such shoddy(by his standards) defences in the Ungdrin and the assault of the Elder Magma Wyrm finally pushing him over the edge. Damn beardlings can't even get this right?!
- Monster attacks coming from the north, and the sight of a new breed of troll that bears a striking resemblance to The Greedy One. No name for this new breed so far, but the Dwarfs of Kraka Drakk send aid in the form of rangers and knowledge to the other fledgling holds of the far north.

...​

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions and 1 apprentice action this turn:
General:
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 7 turns.

Requests: Denote which simple request will receive the Apprentice Action in your plan.
[ ] [Simple] Runic Warmachines: The Engineer's guild has come to you with a request to improve the hold's war machines with the power of Runes. Their losses at the Battle at the Dragon's Maw is a stinging blow that shames them. Not that any dwarf blames the engineers or claims they didn't do their part, not much can be done when a bunch of daemons spawn on top of your position and destroy your artillery after all, but the event has lit a fire under their collective arses. The previous decade was spent cranking out bolt and grudge throwers by the dozen and what better way to make even deadlier machines than with runes? Well it's sound logic, runes always make things better. [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Defence. In. Depth Pt1: It has finally begun, a concession for getting you involved in this whole business with choosing the hold's new Royal Clan, the hold will implement a strategy of Defence. In. Depth. When planning its permanent defences. With that in mind, such a wonderful piece of work will require a suitably magnificent Runes. While someone could never truly have enough defences, building what would eventually be a good seven layers of overlapping kill zones, guard towers and artillery is as good a start as any! [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other Will proc.
[ ] [Difficult] Trollslayer Pt. 1: Thane Ironarm has come to you with a simple request. An axe worthy of commemorating the momentous victory at the Dragon's Maw. He trusts you to make an axe worthy of the prospective title Trollslayer, and is willing to wait for the product for however long it takes. After all, how can he not have faith in you after everything that's happened? First, you have to figure out what runes you want on this damn thing. [Cost: 1 actions] If a rune you want requires special ingredients that you don't have access to I will alert you. If I am given the choice you won't have to worry about that. Good rule of thumb on if it will likely need ingredients is if it's a Master Rune or it's a rune you've developed and know it will need ingredients you don't have.
- [ ] Choose: choose three runes you want on the weapon.
- [ ] Theme: write in a theme for the weapon. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)
- [ ] GM: Leave it to the GM. (I will roll to see if you find a new combo)

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Greedy One's Heart: This thing has been transferred to a warded container because you don't really trust anything that came from that thing. You're all but certain you could make a truly potent Rune of Healing or Fortitude with this thing, but perhaps there are other uses for it you could come up with that a battery of tests could reveal.[Cost: 4 actions.] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2) =6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal Pt. 2: You've found a connection between Runes and Gromril, but it feels like just the beginning of something greater. You've found that in a moment of clarity, that Pure Gromril is especially important for the Master Rune of Gromril because of that inherent purity. With a recent look at actual Pure Gromril, you can say for certain there's more to it than simple physical purity. [Cost: (6-4) =2 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Depending on the choice, Student of the Odd may proc.

Order: As well as the normal system, I'm willing to experiment with this. You can order 1 Rune's worth of an item a turn, but can have as many orders going as you want. I'll ask you only to order if you think you'll use that material for a Rune in the future and not horde a bunch of materials.
[X] Magma Dragon's Blood [(2-1) =1 Turn]
[ ]Write-in:

Remember to vote by plan. There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.

AN: If the RER keeps pushing Grimnir Memes I wont complain. C&C always, and thank you for reading :^)

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan It's A Start.
-[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 7 turns.
-[X] [Simple] Defence. In. Depth Pt1: [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other Will proc. 1 Action
-[X] [Simple] Runic Warmachines: [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. Apprentice Action.
-[X] [Difficult] Trollslayer Pt. 1: [Cost: 1 actions] If a rune you want requires special ingredients that you don't have access to I will alert you. If I am given the choice you won't have to worry about that. Good rule of thumb on if it will likely need ingredients is if it's a Master Rune or it's a rune you've developed and know it will need ingredients you don't have. 1 Action
--[X] Choose: Master Rune of Conduction, Rune of Might, Rune of Impact.
-[X] The Rune Metal Pt. 2: You've found a connection between Runes and Gromril, but it feels like just the beginning of something greater. You've found that in a moment of clarity, that Pure Gromril is especially important for the Master Rune of Gromril because of that inherent purity. With a recent look at actual Pure Gromril, you can say for certain there's more to it than simple physical purity. [Cost: (6-4) =2 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc. 2 Actions

Click to shrink...

…​

You spend the first few years of this decade in your workshop, determined to crack the secret that lies just out of reach. A tantalizing prize you must strain your mind to reach.

Of course, while you're busy learning you leave your apprentices the unenviable task of working on a treatise describing the most efficient way of inscribing the correct Rune array on a hypothetical backlog of five and three dozen Bolt and Grudge Throwers respectively.

Of course, you knew the answer, having planned out everything with the Guildmaster weeks prior, but you wanted to see how badly they bungled things up to know just how much remedial learning the two of them needed

You further explain to your young charges that both you and the Guildmaster had also planned out a bit of collaborative teaching, your apprentices chanting the right of Forging as apprentice engineers hammered away on some machines that didn't pass muster and were destined for deconstruction. No actual runes still of course, but the experience of having to coordinate with others would be invaluable in the future. Runesmiths had to coordinate with a bevy of guilds and craftsmen to get their duties seen to, and dealing with a bunch of beardlings their age would do them some good.

You slam the door on Dolgi's eager grin and Fjolla's look of distaste. The former clearly happy to be working on the type of runes he failed the least in and the latter clearly because she feared gaining yet another would-be suitor.

That bit of humour done and the next two or so years of teaching squared away, you look back at your work table. The geode glinting in the light of your runes and samples of Raw, Refined and Purified Gromril you forged yourself.

By Grungni's beard, you were getting to the bottom of this!

…​

The sound of yet another explosion rattles the workshop, both apprentices, long since used to the noise, wait patiently in the main hosting area of the workshop. The final drafts of their papers waiting on a table for their master to pick apart.

"He's been in there a year longer than expected," Dolgi says for the umpteenth time.

"Aye, and he'll leave when he's good and ready," Fjolla says, voice full of conviction.

"Think we'll ever be like that one day?" he mutters, still staring at the door.

"How so?"

"Just… just like that you know?" Dolgi says floundering to find the right words.

"Obsessive over something to the degree that we hole ourselves up in our workshops for years on end? Or so proficient at Runecraft that we can do the work of two masters in half the time? Or maybe- "

"Yes!" Dolgi exclaims, "It all seems...so far you know? One day who knows how far away we'll be sent off as journeymen, then come back with some profound insight that I'm sure Master Snorri will have known since he was a beardling. How do we live up to that?"

"Don't rightly know. Seems exciting to try though, innit?" Fjolla says, a small smile gracing her lips, "Always learning, never stopping to find a new way to get better and better at what we do, knowing there are places we'll always be reaching for til the day we go back to the Underearth"

"Yeah...yeah, I think I could live with a life like that," Dolgi agrees, a similar smile on his lips.

"Course you'll have a lot of catching up to do, with Klorah and a family to take care of," she jokes.

"You make it sound like her father said yes," Dolgi stutters.

She needs only to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"I'm not marrying her till I become a master," he says, voice adamant.

She looks harder.

"I swear on my honour!"

She keeps looking.

"I Dolgi Embermane, swear on my beard that I won't marry Klorah Silvereyes until I attain the rank of master," he says with finality and sincerity in equal measure.

"Good motivation to be a master at least," Fjolla half laughs, acquiescing to the sacrosanct nature of an oath made on a dwarf's beard.

"Yeah, I gue- " whatever the other is about to say is cut off by a final thundering boom. Though the workshop doesn't so much as shake at the force, being made to withstand such stresses, the echoing sound reverberates throughout the building regardless.

Followed immediately after by the sight of the door sliding open, smoke billowing out ina heady torrent before the Runes of Filtration dutifully siphon and clean it.

Standing there, in an outfit that looks as immaculate as the day they last saw him in it, is Snorri Gift Giver, Runelord of Kraka Drakk.

He scoffs, adjusting his coat then turns to face them.

"Those your papers?" he says, acting as if he hasn't spent three years in his workshop completely isolated from the hold.

"Yes Master!"

"Hmmph, I'll read them on the way, come along now you two. We're just in time for you to get about that training exercise with the apprentice engineers while I go and apologize to the Guildmaster," he says, nodding to himself and moving to the door.

They follow him dutifully.

…​

Funny just how much the words "Runelord Business" can excuse.

It was well known how obsessive a Runelord with a lead to a new Rune or avenue of research could get, you were no exception. Examples of your contemporaries holing themselves up for decades after squaring away their affairs, to emerge only after they'd finished their research were common enough to be a recognizable pattern. Others were more moderate, setting aside a set time for research and another for going about their duties and adhering to that schedule stringently.

But inspiration, for all that dwarfs wish it wasn't the case, struck at the oddest times. And many a Runelord and Runesmith ended up getting caught up in their work to the detriment of their other commitments.

You remember a Runelord who forgot his wedding, becoming so engrossed in his work that he didn't realize until a month later.

He found his would-be bride waiting for him at the altar, in the same dress, the lass having prepared it every day then waiting at the altar for hours on end before going home to eat and sleep, for an entire month waiting for his return.

You don't envy his fate.

Still, it didn't do for a dwarf to be late to their meetings, or miss deadlines, Runelord Business wasn't a get off scot-free excuse after all. As that Runelord likely learned.

That's why any decent Runelord or Runesmith had a clause that absolved them of guilt in the event of an "epiphany or some other discovery of such import that it would delay their ability to complete an order, by so and so amount of time."

Of course, this also stipulated you paying the client back for invoking this clause and for taking up their time in such a manner. Something many a Runesmith and Runelord was fine with doing and something some of the greatest members of the Burudin were known for doing rather often actually. So much so that they usually added a decade on to the completion date as standard practice. Even then, it sometimes still ended up having the clause needing to be invoked.

You, of course, hadn't needed to invoke the clause more than 6 times this past century, all but the last for a reason that led to a bounty of knowledge.

You still think there's an argument to be had about sentry goats, but that was for another day.

But a few hundred pounds of gold and a missed deadline were well worth your discovery.

Pure Gromril wasn't pure. Or well, it was just physically pure.

It came to you one night, deep into the frigid cold, your rune torch burning bright as you poured over notes. You remember knocking the torch and a vial over as you reached to refill your tankard with more ale. Looking over at your mess, you slowly set the ale down, instead you watched with almost childlike fascination as the light of the torch bounced off the scintillating crystals of the geode and through the coloured glass.

The light was impure.

Yet you could see not a speck of impurity in the crystal, perfectly formed in the geode.

What was there was pure, but the light was dimmed, distorted by an outside source. The green glass of the vial muddying the otherwise perfectly clear light.

It struck you like a hammer blow.

Pure Gromril was only physically pure. The essence itself though was tainted by the nature of its environment and existence. The decay of Warpstone as it broke apart in the face of reality and dispersed back into the raw stuff of the Realm of Chaos tainting the Gromril that was right next to it so thoroughly that the whole seam was infected.

So now you knew, you think, but it left a burning question.

How did you purify it?

You spend that last year making ever more destructive attempts to purify the Gromril, but make not a speck of progress. Even still, the thought will take up the corner of your mind for the rest of the decade as you go about your delayed schedule.

…​

Thane Ironarm is as imposing as you recall. An elderly dwarf almost into his 5th century of life, with a beard only a shade darker than yours. In one arm was a richly decorated helm, the winged decorations noticeably absent and in their place a great set of curling horns.
The man was wearing his customary outfit of solid Gromril plates overtop a chainmail shirt of what was no doubt the strongest steel available to him. Beneath which, richly decorated leather and equally comfortable padding no doubt stopping any chaffing. The armour bearing Runes blazing on its surface.

Okay work, you suppose.

One of the contenders for the future king of the hold, not that he knew of course, as well as the commander of the army that fought back The Greedy One's horde while you duelled its master. The man came to you decades ago, requesting a weapon worthy of commemorating that titanic battle and only now have you come to him with a design you feel worthy.

For the past few hours, you have been explaining and consulting the technical details of the man's future weapon, from the weight of the Pure Gromril head, its shape and even the material of the axe shaft itself. You both have settled on a large two-handed greataxe. The single bearded blade will be an imposing butt spike to balance out the weight with a shaft of some of the finest Wutroth the thane will contribute himself.

"The head is decorated to visualize the effect the Runes will have," you explain, pointing to the final sketch of the design you envisioned.

"A meteor?" Thane Ironarm asks, more confused by the symbology than your ability to replicate the phenomenon you're sure.

"Aye. The Runes I'll put on it will mean the axe head grows bright as it heats up, then as you strike the enemy that energy is released in an expanding bubble of force, heat and air. The fact that your axe will have dug into its flesh beforehand will only make the resulting explosion more destructive. Of course, the bearer won't feel a bit of the knockback, be a waste of energy you see. I mean, not unless you've stuck your face right next to it, " you finish with a satisfied smile.

You see his eyes light up in understanding. The dwarf traces the intricate blueprint of the axe with a newfound appreciation.

"Clan Ironarm will honour this gift for as long as our bloodline endures Rhunrikki," the beardling says with a deep bow, his retainers following his example.

You snort.

"Better be beardling, I had to wait twenty years for the Magma Dragon Blood to get here so I could get to work."

You respectfully ignore the man's sputter.

He should be grateful your apprentices were currently out trying to work with those apprentice engineers.

…​

You end the decade on a high note.

Finishing the first part of Kraka Drakk's defences.

Ahead of you the now cleared field is a perfect location for the dozens of runically enhanced artillery pieces and guard towers all along the walls to fire on, every last meter ranged and memorized by the crews for accurate firing.

A wall consisted of at least two meters thick and ten meters tall of stone reinforced by bars of steel and in some places Gromril. The walls themselves were inscribed with Runes of Warding and Preservation to make the granite even more difficult to break, built in such a way that the rubble would only provide further obstacles to climb through.

Of course, each wall had a gatehouse and accompanying moat and drawbridge. The structure of each gatehouse was such that it had two doors. A Gromril plated Portcullis and a larger thicker stone gate behind, with larger versions of your Alchemical flame throwers in between. All three mechanisms controlled from inside the gatehouse by a system of pulleys for the gates and Runes for your fiery death traps. The drawbridge was built from imported Wutroth reinforced with Gromril bars, and could be raised in fifteen secondsthanks to the Rune of Waking that would aid the dwarfs in charge of the pulley system behind it.

Then the moat, a ditch at least two meters wide and three meters deep. But It was no ordinary moat, no this moat was meant to be flooded, not with water, but with lava. Lava sourced from pits built inside the guard towers, that bore Runes of Heat, Insulation and Warding that allowed any scrap stone from mining or construction to be melted down and then through clever rune enhanced pipework to be used to flood the ditch in a minute or less. The lava kept in a liquid state with yet more Runes on the stone side. Easily able to be simply shunted away or put back with a bit of clever fluid engineering… and Runes.

Now repeat this, seven times.

Each time the wall grew larger and denser and the moat deeper and wider until you reached the final gatehouse, walls 5 meters thick and 20 meters high of Runed stone and metal. With titanic pools of lava ready to turn the depression in front of it into a river of molten death.

But, this was only the start.

The final plans called for a great network of tunnels, collapsible in the case of breach of course, that stretched from the hold into a series of barracks, watchtowers and artillery emplacements nestled and hidden in the nearby mountains. Turning the entire cleared area into a killing field with artillery now capable of raining down on them from all sides. Of course, artillery alone wasn't enough. Your plan called for the entire clearing to be made ruinous to march through. Using great underground pipes that were going to crisscross all throughout the plain, all meant to flood the earth with water and with the aid of Runes of Warmth turn the field into a quagmire of sticky, suffocating mud.

Defence. In. Depth.

…​

Gain:
- Combo Unlocked: Meteorfall: Strikes from this weapon hit like an object from the void striking the earth, an explosion of energy that expresses itself through heat, air and fire aimed solely at the enemy. [Blows from this weapon cause an expanding Bubble of energy that forces itself to expand despite whatever may be stopping it.] [Master Rune of Conduction, Rune of Might, Rune of Impact.]
- Rune Metal Pt 3 Unlocked. Find a way to remove the metaphysical impurity from the Gromril.
- Defence in Depth Pt2. Unlocked. Nowhere is safe.
- Trait: Mind for Metal: Every 3 research actions used for Gromril add 1 free action's worth of progress. Work with all Gromril tiers will be improved.

AN: wooh this one took longer than I thought. Anyway C&C and thanks for reading. :^)

 

[soulcake]

You look down at the diminutive child, her bright blue eyes staring back up at you in wonder.

"Snerra, greet your uncle Snorri, girl!" Jorri whispers, pushing the little girl forward just a tad.

"H-hello Uncle!" the small child squeaks at you.

You sniff not unkindly at the child, a small grin on your lips as you stare at her. A small dress of red and blue with a little cap atop a head of deep brown hair.

You pat her on the head as you glare at your brother.

"What in Thungni's name are you doing bringing a child out of the hold? On a Caravan! In the north! Where there are trolls! Does Magna know?"

Jorri, the tosser, simply nods.

"It took a lot of cajoling, but the Rangers have been clearing the north of these Greedy Trolls as they're called with gusto and the fact that I came here with a good amount of the Clan convinced he-" he says before you cut him off

"-You have eight hundred dwarfs with you here Jorri. This isn't a good amount of the clan, it's most of the clan. Look, Uncle Kraus is right there!" you say, pointing at one dwarf in a group of elders sniffing in approval at the hold's defences.

"Brother please, Magna only agreed to bringing Snerra with me on the condition I bring adequate guard. It's not my fault that two-thirds of the clan was what she considered adequate guard!" Jorri pleads.

You scoff, absentmindedly handing a piece of troll jerky to the child at your feet to nibble on.

"What's the real reason Jorri. I appreciate seeing my niece and I appreciate seeing so many familiar faces, but you don't up and move eight hundred dwarfs and send them off on a whim," you say

"Jorri, stop yanking Snorri by the beard, and Snorri stop pointing out your brother's foolishness. He didn't ask for us, we came here of our own accord. If your father was here he'd knock some sense into you both," a very familiar voice says.

"Yes mother/Mother?" you both say at the same time, looking at the grim visage of an elderly dwarf matron. Her pure white hair bound in thick plaits that looped around a good five times before ending a few inches from the ground. She wears a conservative dress in the clan colours, only four rings on her fingers and the necklace your father made her for their 80th anniversary on her neck.

"Yes, mother. What Snorri? No hello? No 'oh its been years, how have you been ma?' I certainly didn't teach you to be so disrespectful!" she chides you with no real heat, poking at your chest with a finger.

"Yes ma, hello ma, sorry ma," you blurt out, centuries of repetition making the phrases a reflex.

"Bah! Come here son, you too granddaughter, it's been a good century since I've seen you and two minutes too long without the other. Letters and gifts just don't compare, too busy to visit your mother now that you're a Runelord hmm?" Iggun Frostbraids says pulling you and Snerra into a tight hug.

"What are you doing here ma?" you gasp out, the bone-crushing force of her hug stopping you from breathing properly.

"Magna asked me to come and make sure Jorri didn't cock it up, and to my shame, it seems I've failed. Look at what you've done Jorri, shamed your mother in public!" she says releasing you both after a while, then swatting your brother's arm.

"Yes ma, sorry ma," the four hundred something-year-old apologizes, bowing his head.

"Now, I'm only here to visit and do some shopping, but most of the Clan's here to move in. Heard a tale of Pure Gromril that you helped make possible and decided this was a good place for the younger folk to settle down like Kraus over there. Elders got sick of their rowdiness you see," she says.

Uncle Kraus was an elder of eight centuries, but then again your father was his older brother so it tracked.

"Jorri! Go get your brother's order will you? Snerra girl, go follow your father and get Gotri and Gotrek to help you make sure he isn't being a daft lad now will you?"

"Yes Grandmother!" the youngster says, following after the retreating and defeated form of your brother.

Your mother meanwhile claps your face, hands pushing and pulling at your cheeks.

"Look at you! All skin and bones, have you been eating? I know your type gets caught up in your work, but that doesn't excuse improper nutrition! Do you know how much it hurts your mother seeing you this thin?" she says worrying over you, ignoring the fact that you're larger and taller than most dwarfs here.

"I've been eating mother," you say, trying to placate her.

"Not enough clearly!" she says lightly, poking your cheeks harder.

"Ma, please," you beg.

"How've ya been? Hows Fjolla? The girl been doing alright by you?" she continues, heedless of your distress.

"Fjolla's fine ma, barely almost adequate as an apprentice, and I'm fine, there's no need to worry!" you say, pushing her hands away from your sore face.

She only squints up at you, only the fact that you are being honest keeping you from wilting under that familiar glare.

She takes your hand in hers.

"You're old enough I suppose that I can tell you. Your father would be proud of you, all of you. But don't tell Jorri, he can do with a little more pushing still."

"Yes ma."

…​

You sip the ale conservatively, mind ablaze with the knowledge you now possess. Gromril, even Pure Gromril was impure by the way it came into the world. The vileness of Warpstone, unhappy at its inability to corrupt Gromril's physical properties instead corroded the metaphysical spark of the metal.

Just another reason to hate the stuff really.

You idly pat your young niece's head, the little plaitling following you like a limpet as you trained your apprentices and told her stories.

"Then Thungni came upon a cavern one day, and entering it he found a great glittering realm of such beauty that it left the Ancestor speechless. The Ankor Brynn, the source of all Runes, there Thungni found wonder, beauty and power. Like Wutroth seeds, he plucked the earliest Runes from that place and brought them out with him, giving all dwarf kind the wondrous gift that is Runecraft," you narrate, internally delighting in the look of pure wonder in her eyes.

The story itself was only partly correct. None knew how Thungni found the Ankor Brynn, and the Ancestor deigned never to tell anyone save the other Ancestors.

"Then Thungni found those worthy and capable of following in his steps, and found that only those who shared his blood could wield the Runes in the same way as he did. Then he trained these first few as his apprentices, teaching them himself and bidding them to spread their knowledge. These earliest Runesmiths were the greatest of the kind, Agra Silverplaits, Yorren Thunderblow, Belglum the Vast, and many more. These would be the first of the Runelords, and several would join the vaunted ranks of the Burudin, greatest of their rank and are still there to this day! And it is through that bond, Snerra, that I also possess the talent."

"Uncle, do I have the gift?" Snerra asks, eyes wide.

You sniff.

"Too early to say plaitling, mayhaps you do, mayhaps you don't. None can say until a dwarf is past her second decade at the earliest, and even then it is usually during the Kumenought when the Elders can say for certain," you explain patiently.

She nods vigorously.

Bah.

Looking away from your youngest, temporary, ward you snort in the direction of your apprentices, both shivering slightly less than last time, as they inscribed the pattern of Runes they kept bungling up while sitting in the snow.

"Fjolla, you've fixed the third strike, now how about you fix the other twelve and the four more you've made doing so? Dolgi! That Rune of Burning has a better chance of melting the machine with the terrible fate of being under your fumbling ministrations!" you shout just a tad quieter as to protect your niece's small fragile ears.

The two of them had been progressing well beyond your expectations, not that they'd ever know you remind yourself. They had progressed so much that you were even considering entrusting them with a few more tasks, nothing much, still no runes of course, but more than they would have been able to handle before. About halfway there now, soon you may even allow them the chance to take a few small commissions on the side. But that was a good few decades away, even at their pace.

"I'll be back, the both of you'd best not slack off while I'm away!" you shout a final time before standing and turning to look down at the plaitling next to you and saying much more softly, "Come along now Snerra, let's see if your grandmother has finished chewing out your father."

…​

The two of you walk past the bustling forms of dwarfs in the market district, your niece carefully holding on to your hand so as not to get lost in the crowd.

All around you conversations range from mundane tasks, exciting news from the south and the ever-present grumbling of Longbeards complaining about the youth.

You walk slower than usual so as to not overburden the small dwarf walking alongside you, your eyes and ears searching for your brother and mother.

On your way you hear quite a few stories, some boring some bland, but one stands out some. Apparently, the traders say, Grimnir's efforts a decade ago are bearing fruit. Many of the major and minor holds have been fortifying their entrance to the Ungdrin Ankor, unwilling to shame themselves before the ancestor, but a few have taken to the task with gusto. In many of the places Grimnir has been to, numerous minor holds he has saved, like the still rebuilding Karak Rikkaraz, and major holds like Ungor, Everpeak, far-flung Azul and oddly enough Karak Kadrin. That last one surprised you, it being a hold known for trading and its famous Kadrin steel, much of Kadrin's defences were surface-bound on account of the pass it presided over.

Odd but not unwelcome. Always good to have defences and never need them as opposed to the opposite in your opinion.

Eventually, you catch sight of your family, Jorri and his sons carrying bags and bags of goods while your mother haggles with some poor merchant for all they were worth.

You give a gentle tug on your niece's arm and gestured towards the sight of her father and grandmother. Understanding your intent she begins to walk faster, face scrunched up in effort.

Feh.

...​

You bid Jorri and your mother farewell by the month's end, standing before them as the last carts are loaded up and put away. Your mother is off nagging Jorri for his poor packing practices when you arrive.

One by one you offer them parting gifts, all bearing Runes of course; Jorri a talisman, your mother a silver and sapphire necklace, your nephews a matching set of axes and other personal items to each and every one of your brother's children until you stop before the youngest of the eight.

Kneeling down, you lift the necklace in front of the girl's delighted eyes. A simple thing of polished silver, engraved with the Rune of Stone, Warding and Light. A trinket really, something for her to ogle and be amazed by in her youth.

You watch with quiet satisfaction as she takes it in her hand, finger tracing the Rune of stone.

You chalk it up to luck when she traces the etch marks in the proper order, then grow interested when she does the same for the Rune of Warding and Light. Then you are shocked, internally of course, when you catch her mouth mumbling what looked like the chant almost on reflex. The words are wrong, not even close really, but the tone, the intonation, the rhythm are scarily accurate for an eight-year-old.

"Snerra, where'd you learn that chant lass?" you say, spooking her out of her reverie.

"What chant Uncle?" she says, honest confusion on her face.

You raise your brow, "the one you spoke when you were running your fingers over the Runes Snerra."

"I...I'm not sure. I just thought it up! Honest! I swear on my plaits!" the girl says tugging at her hair for emphasis, growing distressed at your expression of disbelief.

Well.

"Swearing on your plaits are you?" you say, voice serious, "Well, I'll believe you, because good dwarfs don't swear on their plaits lightly, and you're a good girl aren't you lass?" you say ruffling her hair as she nods vigorously.

You leave her to finish her packing before you head over to where Jorri was working.

"Jorri," you call seriously, grabbing his attention, "we have to talk."

"What about?" he says, confused by your sudden shift in emotions.

"Girl's got the gift Jorri, the strongest I've seen. Stronger than Fjolla even," you say, patting him on the arm.

His eyes grow wide.

"You have a lot to decide when she turns of age." you say simply, "If you want I can send simple things, tests we use to determine the gift, let her try them and report what she does to me. Guild secrets, you understand."

"Aye, aye I can do that brother," Jorri nods, gaze splitting out into a grin, "Pa would be gobsmacked we got three great Runesmiths in the family now wouldn't he?"

You raise a brow, a smile on your lips as you reply, "Three? I can count one, the other's an apprentice and one's a lass of eight Jorri. Counting your goats a bit early aren't you?"

"Call it faith brother, call it faith!" Jorri shouts, clambering to the seat of his wagon.

"Nonsense more like!" you shout back, staying the entire time as the caravan disappears from view, waving all the while.

Well then.

…​

- Grimnirs actions the last decade have spurred the holds into action, several major and minor holds especially take to it with gusto.
- Your niece is crazy good with runes dawg, rolled a crit on her natural ability.
- Magma Dragon's blood received.
- Your slightly less shoddy beardlings have progressed to such a degree that they have been given even more work you consider them incapable of failing! What a mark of honour +1 Apprentice action, same restrictions apply.

...
​

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions and 2 apprentice actions this turn:
General:
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 6 turns.

Requests: Denote which simple request will receive the Apprentice Action in your plan.
[ ] [Simple] Runic Warmachines: The Engineer's guild has come to you with a request to improve the hold's war machines with the power of Runes. Their losses at the Battle at the Dragon's Maw is a stinging blow that shames them. Not that any dwarf blames the engineers or claims they didn't do their part, not much can be done when a bunch of daemons spawn on top of your position and destroy your artillery after all, but the event has lit a fire under their collective arses. The previous decade was spent cranking out bolt and grudge throwers by the dozen and what better way to make even deadlier machines than with runes? Well, it's sound logic, runes always make things better. [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Defence. In. Depth Pt2: Now that work is done on the outer walls of the Karak, the hold can now focus its efforts on turning the massive clearing into a deathtrap worthy of song and saga! Piping needs to be laid, reservoirs dug, tunnels excavated, stores for food and ammunition packed full for the far-flung barracks and watchtowers. Acres of land, mountain passes to be scouted, blocked off or rerouted if need be. It will be a task that will take decades of labour and hardy dwarfen determination. And all of that construction, every last building, artillery piece and tunnel. Needs. Runes. [Cost: 3 actions] Productivity Like No Other Will proc.
[ ] [Difficult] Trollslayer Pt. 2: With both you and Thane Ironarm in agreement, and the reagents here, all that's left to do is build the weapon itself. A large two-handed bearded axe with a shaft of darkly stained wutroth. The Pure Gromril head engraved with the image of a falling comet, the Runes inside the sphere of the comet's body. The shaft to be contrasted by fine silver knotwork, and the entire piece interspersed with the finest sapphires from the hold's mines. [Cost: 1 action, Magma Dragon's Blood] Productivity Like No Other will proc.

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Greedy One's Heart: This thing has been transferred to a warded container because you don't really trust anything that came from that thing. You're all but certain you could make a truly potent Rune of Healing or Fortitude with this thing, but perhaps there are other uses for it you could come up with that a battery of tests could reveal.[Cost: 4 actions.] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2) =6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal Pt. 3: The Gromril isn't pure, well metaphysically. You need to first devise a Rune or Runic array necessary to draw out the magical impurity from the Gromril itself before you can even begin to tackle the actual physical makeup of such a procedure. You're lucky there's a large body of Runework dedicated to removing or stopping magic cold in its unstable tracks, otherwise, this would have taken far longer. Your gut tells you nevertheless, that nothing short of a Master Rune will cut it.[Cost: 12 Actions] Student of the Odd and Mind of Metal will proc.
[ ] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Depending on the choice, Student of the Odd and/or Mind of Metal may proc.

Order: As well as the normal system, I'm willing to experiment with this. You can order 1 Rune's worth of an item a turn but can have as many orders going as you want. I'll ask you only to order if you think you'll use that material for a Rune in the future and not horde a bunch of materials.

[ ]Write-in:

REMEMBER TO VOTE BY PLAN, THERE IS A TWO HOUR MORATORIUM.
​

AN: crit that baby when I let other people roll for her on a whim. Grimnir Memes are something the dice are still pushing and I'm all for it. Anyway, don't forget to C&C and thanks for reading. :^)